Ironman World Championships 2012 - The Recap One Year Later

I just saw this in my notes draft this morning. It was completely forgotten and thought I hadn't even written a so-called race report for IM 2012. In any case, it's still good. This was written in October of 2012 so fast forward about 10 months to August 2013 and while IM and I aren't necessarily "back together", we have do an open relationship which is good because apparently it means school night dinners in DC. And this year, I'll actually be watching from the sidelines which means? You guessed - I'll be buzzed by the time Chris McCormack quits the race! Even if that's right after the swim exit. ;) Happy Ironmanning for my friends that are still dating her. Just know that she's a real bitch sometimes! Without further ado, here's my race report from the Ironman World Championships, Kona, Hawaii, October, 2012: Dear Ironman Race, Sigh..I didn't think it would come to this. I think you're great and I love our time together, but I need a trial "break" period. You've been a great battle buddy for the last six years, being there for me when I was down and needing company as well as a cozy partner for those long winter nights while dreaming about sunshine, open water swims, and long 100 mile bike rides. But I've decided you are no longer good for me. You're too demanding, make me stay in when I want to go out and don't let me have my freedom. Your jealousy is too much, Ironman. For all the effort I put into our relationship, you left me on my ass (literally...with only 8 miles to go! I mean, was that necessary?) and punished me mercilessly. That last sunburn was the worst! And don't even get me started on that rash we got back in 2009 that lasted 18 months. While I may come back to you at some point, I would like to date other races for now. You know, those other races like running 10ks - quickies on the weekend that don't care if I'm "monogorace". They don't even mind if I do two races in one weekend! Different ones no less! SCANDALOUS! These races are cheap easy dates that don't cost me a fortune and don't demand that I remain faithful on a Saturday night when I want to (gasp) have a beer or (gasp) stay out late. So, that's it. I'm sorry and it's totally me and not you! You're very pretty and a super duper awesome race so I just know that someday you'll find someone who will love you the way you truly deserve. Thanks for a good time, Ironman. I'll always cherish our moments together. Now if you don't mind, I gotta run. It's Wednesday and we're going out on a school night. Heart, Rosie

The E-True Hollywood Story Behind Haysoos the Honu, SHELLSHOCKED! MY LIFE ON THE HALF SHELL...

I've had quite a few people ask me about how Haysoos came to be and why on earth would someone who's not even remotely in the publishing world (and has no children) write a children's book. Those are all good questions. Pretty much the answer to all those questions is: by accident. Of course many would say, nothing happens by accident and I would agree but I'll let you read the story and you can decide on your own. Some time in December 2007, I was shopping for a toy to contribute to the Marine Corps Toys For Tots drive organized by the Hawaii motorcyclists. The idea is that about 3000 riders from around O'ahu ride around the island and at the end, each contribute a toy to the USMC drive. That year, I randomly shopped at a Ward's Center kids shop and found some cute stuffies picking a turtle because, you know, it's Hawaii and giraffes don't exactly say "Hawaii" not that some child on the other end would know the difference. But I was going to make my $14.95 count at least in my own mind. Good thing too, because I don't think Haysoos the Monkey has the same ring to it. Fast forward a few days to the morning of the ride and I'm heading over the Pali Highway from Kailua to Honolulu on the tail of a rainy night. One of the neat things about Hawaii is that you get all kinds of rain (a la Forest Gump - think Big Ol' FAT Rain!). This rain had left major debris in the road and by the time I made it over the other side of the mountain, my motorcycle was making a thumping noise. After a brief search, I realized that not only was there major plant debris in the road, but lots more. A 6" construction nail was embedded in my rear tire. I sat stunned that the tire hadn't exploded causing a major catastrophe at 60 mph and I miraculously survived what could have been something very ugly. Meanwhile, my little gift to the USMC sat in my bag, un-donated. After tow complete and safe back at home, the little stuffed turtle sat on my counter, looking a bit contemplative (he does have a little sewn in smile but you have to really look for it) and we began joking that he was my own personal Jesus. Thinking that might be too much, he was nick-named Jesus but with the Mexican flair. And so "Haysoos" was born... Haysoos began joining us on our romps around the island and mysteriously showing up in pictures. After a year of slowly working his way into our lives, it was make-or-break time. I left for a year long deployment to the middle east in March of 2009 and it was decided that Haysoos needed to come along. At this point, I needed any kind of reminder of Hawaii in order to maintain my sanity. What I didn't realize was that Haysoos had other plans. He was becoming a force all of his own. He joined me at Ft. Jackson, SC for training and somehow managed to work his way into pictures there, joined to in Kuwait where he worked his way into more pictures and when I made it back to Hawaii for R&R in October of 2009, Haysoos once again joined me for the journey, becoming my own personal Flat Stanley. It's lost to history where the idea of a Face Book page originated. But somewhere after Hawaii, we had enough pictures to start a Face Book page just for the stuffed turtle. And then not long after, I started receiving requests from family to please send Haysoos because they wanted to take pictures with him over the holidays. Just like that Haysoos became the world traveler and the rest is history. Sea turtles are migraters by nature so it does make sense. The intricacies of his personality have been discovered along the way with the help of friends and family. By far, the most interesting is Haysoos' penchant for Elvis. He's been wearing that Elvis jumpsuit for so long, it's worn off the gold lamay. Time to get a new one! In any case, it would be incorrect to assume that Haysoos and I have the exact same tastes - of note, he loves sea weed salad and I prefer steak but we still coexist nicely... To date Haysoos has traveled *unaccompanied* to: Atlanta (twice), USS EISENHOWER, Afghanistan, Seattle, St. Louis, Missouri, Michigan, Rhose Island and I think Alaska. He's jumped from a C130 and flown in both a Black Hawk and F18 Hornet. On trips with me he's been to Kuwait, Arizona, Utah, California (numerous), Colorado (twice), North Carolina (numerous), Michigan (numerous), Ohio, Hawaii (many!), and Alaska (numerous). Where ever he goes, it seems adults more than kids seem to come out of their shells :) It's very refreshing. So....the book. Where did THAT come from? Again, lost to history but I think it was a random goofy question from a friend along the lines of "when is Haysoos going to write his autobiography?" The running joke was that he'd write a tell-all about his rowdy days and it would come out something like, "Haysoos the Honu - Shell Shocked: My Life on the Half Shell" but we know our little guy is all about clean organic living and spreading the Aloha. When I shared an idea of a book with the friend to whom the book is dedicated, Madam Butterfly, she responded in a manner that could only be described as "enthusiastic". She called me back later that day and left a voice mail that I wish I still had today which was a primary driving force for generating the much needed motivation for actually researching book publishing. For those of you who know nothing of the publishing industry, know that it's freaking daunting. I'll leave it at that. The original idea was one I still may do so won't divulge but when I sat down to actually write (and we still have the original hand-written manuscript for posterity), the words that can only be scribed as channeled - totally and completely different from what I had intended. It flowed in one sitting and even after many editings, the story was essentially untouched (including all my big words). For lack of a better way to convey how this particular idea came to fruition, Haysoos is his own man but the story is mine so the existing book is a great aggregation of us both. I am grateful to have such a great character through whom I can express my message. The last challenge lay in finding a publisher. Once again, if you are unfamiliar with the world of publishing and were to start researching websites in order to submit a manuscript, you might give up and quit after just a few searches. Which I did many times. The publisher with whom I went (www.mascotbooks.com) fell into my lap through a friend and is a self-publisher so essentially I paid to put my message out there. When you buy a book, you buy it from me through a warehouse. It makes the marketing a huge challenge because we're a marketing team of exactly two - Me and Haysoos but the payback of getting out our message is well worth the sizeable financial investment. So far, the best compliment I've received has been from my cousin. I sent her a copy knowing that it would be a good read - she's dealing with cancer and chemo, no doubt a tough road to go down and if you're not good with your "shell" in this scenario it's going to be even tougher as you watch your shell change with the chemo. She wrote me a very short yet succint email saying essentially this is a great children's book but adults need to read this. What great words; how can we teach our kids that they are fine as they are if we aren't as adults. So that's the unabridged version. We like to joke that Haysoos is a man of the world but really he's just my alter ego - the one that wants to savor every minute as special, enjoy each day like it's the last and always know that no matter where you are, home (in this case Hawaii) will be there for us when we are ready to go back. We hope you make exceptions to the 41 year old woman who carries around a stuffed turtle because I've seen enough people to know that inside each one of us is a similar character even if you don't wear it one your sleeve like we do. We hope you enjoy the story of Haysoos Aloha and Happy Sunday, Kristin, Haysoos and the Big Lebowski

The Adventure of "808 Rosie": May 16th

The Adventure of "808 Rosie": May 16th

Ironman World Championships 2011 October 24, 2011 at 4:52pm For those of you peeking in to see what the hell this is, a brief explanation follows: the triathlon "race report" is merely a blog to note how a significant race went so you can 1) learn from your mistakes and 2) tell everyone about your gastrointestinal issues on mile 12 of the run. #2 isn't so much my style. I prefer to pontificate about my proverbial "gastrointestinal issues", the ones in life that make or break the race and not the actual ones that occur. As in, "man I really pissed this racing season away" or, "damn, that was a shitty life decision". Everyone writes just a little bit differently but the end result is the overdue catharsis that one needs after investing thousands of dollars in cash, hundreds of hours in time spent training and dozens of relationships that are affected with no promise of survival of said relationships after it's all over. And that may or may not be because of the training or because you become some self-absorbed ass along the way. In any case, here's my race report for the Ironman World Championships, 2011. Just in the way of disclaimer, this one is heavy on the chick-ness so if that grosses you out, click back to your home page and read other face book posts. You won't hurt my feelings. I wasn't going to write a race report this year. Didn't need one. The race went well. However, events over this past weekend in my personal life made it suddenly necessary for me to recap the trip to Hawaii in order to convey some gratitude. In the way of background for those not necessarily consumed by the sport of triathlon, Kona is THE SUPER BOWL of triathlon. We've built it up into this enormous beast of an event and rightfully so as it's the culmination of a very long season for those who participate on a professional basis to pay the electric bill. It requires (mostly) another race of equally grueling preparation to qualify and that's if you're good enough to get the top 1 or two slots in your qualifier. Once there, you are now competing with the best of the best (strains of the Top Gun theme are now playing softly in the back ground). There's pretty sizeable pressure to train, prepare and race well. Enter 2011 for Rosie. As one of my good friends called it, 2011 is TYIDSUF - The Year I Didn't Sign Up For. Everything that could go wrong probably did. It was the year that everything was FINALLY supposed to go right, the year I was going to race like a champion, the year that would exorcise all the demons of the last two years and make it all ok. For those not read in on some of my personal details, just know that my life has dramatically changed and apparently that change is still not over. Bottom line, it was hard and I was hoping for redemption in 2011. Unfortunately I blew my proverbial wad early. The season started on a very high note with an Olympic distance where I had a very good run resulting in a pretty durn good race. One month later, the spiral in TYIDSUF began. Ironman Utah. This is one of my biggest ever "WTH was I thinking" moments. Ever. And not because the race was difficult, although it was. More so because it seriously didn't mesh with my life at the time and was designed as a check in the block to put on my triathlete resume. Never do this. Learn from my pain. This is dumb. But damn, now I know. Then, three weeks later (and this is shared not for sympathy but to indicate mindset and once again hopefully have my nieces learn from my pain) through some rather interesting circumstance that I didn't see coming, I find myself dumped at the Colorado Springs airport...via text message. Never make Ironman decisions after being dumped from a relationship particularly if it comes in through text message. Wayne Dyer (among many others) says we manifest what comes to us. Awesome. Mind chatter: "I've manifested a crappy race and just invested four months of my life with someone who ditches me 10 minutes after leaving me on the curb at the airport. In a text. Wow, 1) I'm apparently an ass and 2) I was really on the fence but now I need to do another Ironman...this year!" *sigh* No. No. No. Bad Rosie. I entered my application to Navy sports and they picked me up to represent Navy for the third time. (Dispensing with the sarcasm for a moment, this is really big and I'm terrifically grateful that the Navy Sports office still facilitates our competing in this race particularly in a time where funds are incredibly tight. I can't thank them enough for allowing me to compete for a total of 6 times on Navy sports teams and it's been a blessing and a highlight in my career.) So enter Hawaii Ironman at a time where my life already couldn't get any fuller and getting ready for retirement to boot. Lots going on personally and professionally. Training begins and my life becomes one long workout morph into dog walk morph into staff meeting and power point presentations morph into workout. I can hardly remember the last four months except to say I remember they were tiring, I drove with road rage every day, overindulged in coffee to the point where I might have an ulcer (ok, not really but it really was a lot) and my dog is never allowed to go swimming in Seashore State park again lest he pick up more digestive critters (I promise that is the ONLY reference to actual G.I. issues) and damn, do my carpets need to be steam cleaned. Racing from May until Sept 10th was pretty bad. Results just weren't there at all and seemed to solidify my distaste for this silly YIDSUF. Just as tired as last year, same injuries as last year yet was finishing 30 minutes slower in some races. It just wasn't gelling and "man this shit just aint fun anymore". Remember all that hype I mentioned with regards to the World Championships? Now we're feeling it. Nothing like some self-induced pressure to rock you to sleep (again to my nieces, don't do this...it simply isn't necessary, please worry about things like walking gracefully in high heels, not race results). Why the eff am I doing this? And alone no less? I need sherpa crew for my life! Again... *sigh* Learning stinks sometimes. Particularly when it's actually "re"learn. Why all the whining Rosie? Just need to set the stage folks. There's a happy ending coming. I have a drawing in my cubicle that shows a graph of the daily caffeine curve: wake up with severe depression, 7 am - 1st cup (curve moves up the y-axis scale), 8 am - 2nd cup, 9 am - 3rd cup and heading towards "normalcy" on the graph depiction, 4th and 5th cups towards noon and we're approaching "incredible elation" on the y-axis with "God Sighted" by 1 pm on the x-axis. Then the curves goes south towards "feelings of worthlessness" by 4 pm and "triple shotgun murder" by 5 as the caffeine slowly dissipates at the end of the day. In life, I was on the "feelings of worthlessness" at 4 pm desperately needing a caffeine boost on this YIDSUF. This blog is dedicated my caffeine boost to let them know how important they were in getting me across the finish line in a manner where the time totally didn't matter and the journey (race week journey) was everything. I wrote off the cuff in my 2008 Kona race report that "There's nothing lonelier than a finish line without friends" and for a tag line that was completely out of the blue and without much thought at the time, this has run true over and over and over again for the last three years. It resonated in a way that I didn't anticipate but am humbled and grateful to manifest (with help of course) some good vibes to make the last 9 months feel like a mark in the "W" column. Where to begin... Gratitude. Just a ton of it. First, thanks to my good friend Charity for watching the Big Lebowski for two entire weeks. Your pictures sent of Dude to those of us in Hawaii were priceless but not as priceless as the video of his summer vacation to West Virginia to the soundtrack of a little dueling banjos. Ensuring the Dude was well cared for made a huge difference in letting me concentrate on the race and some desperately needed down time on the back end of the race. His new toy box is awesome by the way! To Angel and Jill who lived with me at various points throughout the summer and fall, thanks for putting up with some rather interesting (and admittedly bizarre) behavior while I vented my way through crap on the carpet (I lied, this is another reference to G.I. issues....sorry), my onerous work schedule during the end of fiscal year contract season, my overly ambitious training schedule and puppy training. I'm still convinced that Big likes Angel better than me to this day but then she was the one who finally got him to eat out of a dog bowl. Jill, your cooking rocks. Kobe beef and sangiovese....bring it! To the Team Big Entourage: Little did I know that when I rolled up to that first DC ride, I'd meet people who would be willing to fly 6,000 miles at great personal expense to support me. Not only that but they arranged the transportation, housing and "social schedule" which made the week unreal fun. To my sistas Julie and Jen, I owe you a debt of gratitude that may be hard to pay back. Thanks for your support in the months leading up to the race, thanks for the emails keeping me going, thanks for the phone calls to the office to check in (Julie!!) and thanks for handling all the logistics so all I had to do was show up wit' my (sarcastic, poopy pants, bad attitude) bad self. Thanks for the t-shirts, the photos, and some really crazy memories of a week that totally erased the previous 4 months. As I was spread eagle on the pavement of the Seaside hotel, there were few people on earth I would have rather seen. Jesus maybe. Elvis definitely but only because Haysoos would want an autograph. To my real sister Libby...wish I had words. You and the Herman clan have supported me through about 24 years of personal crises, drama, racing, multiple dogs, deployments, everything Navy, or whatever it was I was doing at the time. I've eaten your food, drank your beer and broke just about all the appliances in your home at least twice. How do I pay this back? Unable. Can't tell you what it means to have shared this great experience with you and hope that it was worth the time and energy you spent in making it happen. It has been very cool to share this weird piece of my life with someone in my family so you know (oh wait... you already knew) how crazy I am but also why and what fuels me. And hopefully despite my debacle of a personal life that in some way I've given your awesome daughters something to reach for, although hopefully in a much less painful manner! Maybe I've manifested something pretty good! I'd be remiss if I didn't mention Haysoos. For those who haven't already met Haysoos, he's my stuffed turtle side kick. Long story and if you want to check him out, he's on Face Book as well under Haysoos Honu. More an idea than a stuffy, Haysoos embodies living life to it's fullest and is my constant companion while on travel to continually remind me both of this concept and of our home away from home, Hawaii. Haysoos has lived more life in three years than most people live in a life time. Born on the Pali Highway in Hawaii on a cold, rainy December day of 2008, he's been to Alaska (numerous times), Seattle, St. Louis, Detroit, Rhode Island, Arizona, Utah, Vermont, Ohio, Missouri, Tennessee (wanted to see Elvis but no joy), Colorado, Kansas (he didn't want to go there though...Dorothy had left the building), North Carolina, California, Kuwait, an aircraft carrier and flown over Afghanistan and Pakistan. Hell, I've barely done all these things. Haysoos is the guy who lives life in a gold Elvis costume with joy to its fullest and sits on my counter as a reminder that we carry all the protection we need in our shell so what's stopping you from getting out there and taking a chance. Well, the good news is that just before we hit the ground in Hawaii, Haysoos got his book deal. Fer real. While it added a big chunk of "OMFG" to life (I now have a lawyer on retainer...for normal people this isn't a big deal, for me, OMFG!), and required significant time at a time when I didn't have time, it's now in the hands of a publisher. The Biography of Haysoos in the form of a children's book will be out hopefully before Christmas. So Haysoos tagged along to Hawaii also much in need of siesta from the writer's grind, the paparazzi, the lawyers and the biz in general. Oh and a break from that dog! He kept the Team Big entourage company while I was working and is the glue that keeps us all together. Not bad for a $10.99 stuffed turtle from Ward Center. Good work Lil' Man and mahalo for keepin' it real. As for the race? Didn't matter so don't need to discuss it. It merely provided me with an opportunity to relearn what I've forgotten (again!) about the necessity to grow tight relationships, understand those that are not, ask for help when you need it and be able to accept help in no matter what form is arrives. I was looking in the wrong places, didn't realize that until yesterday and therefore focused my angst in the entirely wrong place. So to the dude that's really pissed at me right now, you're entirely entitled. Acknowledged offering sincere apologies and hopefully you will not be pissed at me for long. To my kokua crew mentioned above, thank you and accept my most sincere gratitude in proverbially getting me up, pushing me out the door and carting my carcass home after every bad race, every step of the last four months and after the race on October 8th. In closing my only catchy tags lines are, "if you give up too much, you'll have nothing left" because I am now there, and "Go Big or Go Home". Aloha, rosie

The Calm Amidst the Storm

This blog was originally written on Sept 9, 2011. Fast forward two years (which frankly feels like two decades) and I'm actually publishing on Sept 24th, 2013. What a difference two years make. Not only has life changed, but what I'll share has changed. Simple and to the point, it is what it is. Blogs are all about logging on the web so here's the log from that day two years ago. I had this wild dream last night. Set the scene: running around in a warehouse desperately looking for cover from this massive tornado heading my way. All I can find are these cinder block walls that aren't more than eye level tall and no ceiling. The tornado is roaring my way so as it is almost on top of me, I drop to the cement floor and basically say a few words of surrender and wait for the tornado to do what it will. Then the most amazing thing happened. As the twister was directly over top of me, I experienced this wonderful sense of peace, calm, release, lightness and complete surrender to the force of the storm. It was amazing. Just total surrender. As the storm moved on, the roaring began again and I was left untouched. What an amazing feeling to know that in the midst of the most tumultuous times, that we can actually experience true comfort and be perfectly protected despite circumstances that look beyond dire. It is moments like that that enable me to keep going through the drama of my life. Keep going knowing that regardless of what seems insurmountable, there is still peace if I just totally surrender.

Ironman Utah, May 24th, 2011 - The Race That Should Have Never Been

Each time I do a race, it’s always the one I won’t write about. “Nothing happened.” Kinda silly because it’s a major event with months of my life planned around it, months of socializing put on hold, thousands of dollars invested in training/travel and leave burned to go do it. The problem is remembering it all effectively enough to portray what the event really was like and meant in the overall scheme of things. For some reason, I decided that going it alone would be a good call. Someone once said that nothing is lonelier than a finish line without friends. Apparently I need to learn this yet again but in reality, going it alone was necessary to know I could do it without help. So yeah, I trained for and participated in an Ironman without any support. It was an amazing challenge but one that forced me to be entirely present, entirely organized and entirely motivated – something you don’t do when you rely on others to take care of your shit. The decision to do Utah was pretty much a coin flip. Since at the time of signing up, there were only two US races not yet sold out, I asked my coach which one. In retrospect, maybe Louisville would have been a better choice in terms of pain mitigation but you who know me know that I’m all in for maximum discomfort in the name of entertainment and “personal growth”. The challenge of doing a dessert Ironman at 2000-5000 feet of altitude was combined with some other “self improvement” projects I have going on in life so was an excellent proof of concept (as we say in the military staff world) that life is expanding in all the right ways. Jonser, you’ll be happy to know that I don’t want to kill you anymore for saying Utah was the race for me. Fast forward to arrival and imagine my dismay (because I didn’t pre-flight plan this…ignernce is bliss!) that the terrain was high, dry and freakin’ hot. Oh well… no backing out now. I arrived through Vegas and made the 2-hour drive up to St. George, UT through some fantastic (although high, dry and freakin’ hot) scenery. Pictures fail to capture the “big sky” of it all. I checked into my hotel and figured I’d deal with the logistics tomorrow. Remember that whole “lack of pre-flight” thingy? Yeah, because I was here alone, I had no earthly idea how I was going to get to the swim start which was 30 miles away from the finish line and how I would get back to my hotel which was 6 miles from the finish line. If I were graded on the final exam at this point, it would be a resounding “F”. Pressing on… Ever been to Utah? It’s a great state with the most incredibly wonderful people ever. All those Mormons have it figured out. They’re so friendly and welcoming saying, “Oh yeah, come and do our cute little triathlon! You’ll love it and we have pizza and soda pop afterwards! And square dancing! YEA!” Then you get there and realize that there’s the distinct possibility that the Mormons are working closely in concert with Satan. They completely suck you in and then give you the Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka from the high rails on you as they pound you into submission with the Ironman from hell. With a square dancing and soda pop chasers of course. Point of digression… Allow me to take a moment to mention just how out-of-place Europeans are in Utah. In Hawaii they just look like tourists but to the conservative Utah crowd, the spandex-wearing, nude-in-the-parking-lot crowd just doesn’t work. It must be me because it seems like every Ironman, I happened to attract the hairy (European) dudes in full frontal out in public. It’s God’s cruel joke that still haunts me to this day. OK, back to the topic. I have a very good friend who recently gave me some excellent advice: simplify and clarify. I’ve taken that onboard in ways you can’t even imagine and it’s filtered over into my racing and training. So much so that it was a bit alarming when I built up my bike (which took all of 5 minutes…very simple) and realized that it was set up with one bottle of nutrition, a couple of gu gels and….yeah, that’s about it. Compare to Arizona in 2008 when I had an entire laundry list to check off when getting my bike and transition bags ready. Packing my transition bags was worse: shoes, helmet/hat… uh, that’s it. I threw a Red Bull into each bag just to make it seem heavier because damn! that’s just not enough, right? My special needs bags, one Red Bull and a chunk of carrot cake that I wouldn’t even use. I mean, crap, I even forgot to bring my heart rate monitor and bike bottles. Who goes to an Ironman without a heart rate monitor and water bottles? Rookie mistakes that we will now conveniently re-characterize as “simplifying” in order to save face. In taking in the entire holistic picture, my grand scheme to simplify appeared it would materialize as either a total success or a total failure. Deep in the back of my mind, there’s the nagging thought that I’m simply not taking this seriously enough. Cleary, there are people here who have an entourage of dozens, packed transition bags full of towels, body glide, Big Macs, small midgets, ponies and unicorns while I’m down to a Red Bull. Hmmm…. Add to that the fact that I simply (there’s that simple thingy again) not nervous. You’re supposed to be nervous before an Ironman right? Truth be told, I get more nervous before my semi-annual PRT than before an IM. I was quickly starting to realize how liberating this whole “simple” thing really is. Because when you skin this cat, the only person I would be failing was me. It dawned on me that this might actually be the first major race I’ve done for just me. Nothing to prove; nothing for which to qualify; no fans present to disappoint. And my traveling buddy, Little Man Haysoos simply doesn’t care about these things. It would be a race to enjoy for the sake of racing. Although from the cheap seats here at my computer, I admit that “enjoy” really would only come long after. Before race day, I spent some time enjoying the local area and made a quick trip up to Zion National Park. Definitely worth the time but damn, that’s a lot of traffic. Bumper to bumper going through the park and it was only early May. In any case, I was able to score the best Geedunk of the trip. Normally since these events are so few and far between, we load up on T-shirts and bling to announce in blazing font across our chests that WE ARE IRONMEN!! It’s part of the bizarre Ironman subculture. Anyhoo, the tri-jersey I got was nice but my favorite bling from this year’s race was actually the Harley Davidson t-shirt I picked up from the dealership that was about 30 miles from Zion Park. It’s just cool and says absolutely nothing about triathlon. I walked around the rest of the time in my jeans, shit-kickers and Harley shirt. People were looking at me strange like, “are you really racing or is that number on your arm a stunt?” No doubt after babbling on for two pages, you all want to hear about the race. Sure why not. It was (pardon my French…) fucking hot, windy and I couldn’t get a solid breath of air for 13 hours. That pretty much sums it up. 95 degrees. Bike hills were up to 15% grade and we ran up a hill that was 8%. Tough stuff. Making a good call to drive the course AFTER instead of BEFORE, I got some pictures for posterity. The scenery was killer (along with the hill affectionately dubbed “The Wall”) and provided a few moments of “presentness” and clear focus (i.e. I pulled my head out of my ass momentarily) in the midst of the hardest physical challenge of my life. To draw a picture for you, there was a point at about mile 22 of the run where I was heading up yet another hill, the sun lowering in front of me, wind briskly in our faces blowing dust and sand aggressively. It was so steady a wind that I couldn’t see the feet of those in front of me as the sun shining off the dust and sand blocked out people from the waist down. Tumbleweed blew across our paths (seriously). It’s interesting though, that in the middle of all this, there are moments of clarity that completely stand out: the darkness of the morning wilderness sky painting a beautiful display of stars; the smell of the school bus that transported us to the swim start; the feel of the burning pavement under my rear end when I was putting on my running shoes; the taste of the fries I had after crossing the finish line and the cobweb that some lost spider had built on my bike overnight after I dropped it off in transition. That spider web, BTW, stayed there the entire race which on many levels is depressing since it means I never got fast enough on the bike to blow it off but in many ways cool – that’s one tough web. Simple yet strong. This is where I get philosophical so if that stuff bores you please skip to the end (assuming of course that you made it this far to begin with!). I have a very good friend who is in the process of moving. At the age of 38, she’s accepted a job cross country and is leaving the place where she has spent 5 years (and collected 5 years of stuff presumably). She’s shipping her motorcycle, bicycles and truck, selling the rest and putting only the most essential basics in the back of a rental (along with the dogs of course – can’t mail those) and driving to a new life. This entirely demonstrates someone who fully embraces lack of attachment to stuff. (FYI, I cannot and don’t pretend – still learning. I’d like to state for the record that my new pick up truck which has complicated my life significantly with a car loan is cool enough in my mind to make up for my attachment to “stuff”.) There are very few people like this in the world that understand that simplicity is liberating and we are so much happier as humans when free of self-imposed yokes. We are so attached to our stuff that we forget that it’s really just stuff. We also forget it’s the attachment to people that really is the important thing (like the attachment that means being willing to drop everything on a moment’s notice and hang out with your Grandfather for a week). Riding and driving through the mountains of Utah, Arizona and Nevada reminded me yet again of what it must have been like for those first settlers (and Native Americans of course) to hack out an existence here. Can you imagine what they thought when they saw it? No doubt there wasn’t much of a fight when Brigham Young said, “Yeah, we’ll take it” and walked away with the keys to Utah. Talk about simple – it doesn’t get more basic than finding shelter, water and chow in the middle of the desert wilderness. What’s an Ironman compared to that? The plan to pare down this race to the bare essentials actually could be termed a success. My time was 13h 07m which upon crossing the finish line was really disappointing (normal time is 1h 20m faster) but after reviewing the times online, realized that if there’s a pro that comes in at 12 hours, then 13 ain’t so bad after all. It was a brutal test of both mental and physical endurance and once again, at mile 18 of the run, I swore to high heaven that this would absolutely be my last. I have, however, finally come up with an answer to those who would ask, “are you freakin’ crazy and why the hell do you do this?” There are few things in life that will tell you exactly what you are made of. Since I’ll never see hand-to-hand combat, this is the next best thing. This certainly does not mean I’m made of great stuff. Clearly this race gave me some personal insight to a few things that still need tweaking (not mentioned here to protect my fragile ego…) but at least now there’s clarity. So with a little rudder applied courtesy of Ironman Utah, me ‘n my ego are re-adjusted on the path to expansion and evolution. Post Script: Since you are all fans of Haysoos, being the typing cripple he is, he wanted me to pass on that he had a great time too. We didn’t see Elvis in Vegas but there’s a chance we’ll go to Graceland at the end of May. Little Man spent the race day safely tucked away in the air-conditioned hotel room sucking on a beer but was with me in spirit. He did however join me for race registration and as always, was a big hit with the Ironman crew. Photos posted in the IM Utah folder. Enjoy :)

USNA Re-visited, December 10th, 2010

I felt compelled this evening to write a few words about a small institution located on the Severn River in Maryland. It's an intense love-hate relationship we have but I'm glad to say that finally it's morphed into more love than hate which I assume is sign of growth on my part. As for Mother B, she's been there, staid, silent never judging just waiting for her children to come home and be appreciative. If nothing else, she's waiting for us simply to come home and recognize it as such. Like most parents, we never really realize the sacrifice or payments made on our behalf from their bank accounts per se but after my recent trip, they seem much more apparent. She's ever the symbol of both division and unity, freedom and imprisonment, laughter and tears. Lacking anything else, Ms. Bancroft is a symbol (now) of my transition from childhood to the great big world at large. If you haven't lived it, apologies but you wouldn't understand. In truth you've lived your own but it has a different flavor. It was entirely fitting that on the evening I chose to stroll the grounds of my hallowed alma mater, there was a wind chill of 7 degrees. Cold but clear. Cutting through you but joyful at the opprtunity to say hi to a long lost friend. They were 4 years of my life spent in survival mode as we marched, mustered, shined shoes, folded towels, memorized rates and shouted chowcalls (ok, that was only the first year). It builds so much resentment that only the most gifted are fortunate enough to be able to escape to VGEP or some varsity sport. They have little realization for the rest who muddle their way through practice parades, feet frying in corframs, struggling through yet another round of O-course (which is no longer there I might add) and mandatory meals with people you simply don't like. It's the days of fries, "weekends", OBSTCR, outers and inners, tours, wires and cables, football in the old Meadowlands and falling asleep in the middle of a football roaring stadium because you simply hadn't slept in 8 or 9 days. While I was there, I never really fit in and felt like the outsider trying to mingle with the "rich kids" but that's really a bunch of crap. When you don the winter blues, the huge wool coat reeking of dry cleaner fluid or the reg PT gear with socks pulled up (and what WERE those shoes they issued us in '88??) really we have all just been equalized. We all smell like Coast soap and gabardine summer whites and shoe polish. In fact to this day I can't smell Coast soap without being absolutely catapulted back to summer 1988 with the east coast heat wave, lunch in King Hall and holding M4 rifles and present arms up on the deserted 7-4 corridors (unbeknownst to our superiors). They pushed the message down our throat that we were special but it wasn't in the way that they thought. We weren't special to the Fleet but special to each other. Up until recently, it was rare that I even admitted to attending this small college. I stopped wearing my ring as soon as my diploma was in hand and haven't worn it since unless it was to put it on to make sure I wasn't getting fat. Seriously. But in reality it is such a special place that it's hard to find words to describe it. I am reminded daily when I work with my boss who is an '83 grad. Salt of the earth. I spent two years on a Carrier Air Wing Staff with two other '92 grads and thought the world of them. As I read the alumni magazine, I see all the names of '92 grads who are now accepting the mantle of command and I'm proud of my class mates who have not only completed their service but excelled enough to be trusted to lead their charges. I knew you when... We truly are special but not because we're better and that's always been the sticking point for me. We're not better and too many have thought they were. It's a specialty that derives from family and shared experience. Like siblings who despise their parents, it's a bond. My company graduated a fraction of those with whom we started. Many fell out along the way but those who graduated survived, the elite members of '92 from the Herd and 4th company, and to this day, that makes them family to me. Good days and bad days from Plebe to Firstie, finals and June week, Plebe Chemistry and the plunge off the 10 meter tower, we were all there together. And as my boss likes to say, there's nothing like training leaders of tomorrow by mandating them to carry rain gear today. You know what I mean. :) Frankly I could have done without that D*@H^bag second class when we were plebes (you know him, the bald-guy Marine wanna be?) but as I bring back repressed memories from Plebe year, summer cruise, silent walks down Main Street, squeezing through Gate 3 after taps, and the quiet moments stolen while sitting on the ledge of 8-4 with a cigar, it makes me grateful for the chance to be a part of something incredibly honorable in both it's intent and execution. Moreover, I have people in my life that no matter how far we get apart we are still close and can talk over dinner after 8 years of separation like we saw each other last week. Thanks to Mother B. I didn't like you but at least now I respect you.

Ironman World Championship Recap, October 15th 2010

Well maybe the third time's the charm. I've tried two ther times to get something suitable for print and think I'm actually there. These race reports of mine tend to be entertaining but for the life of me, this one's been challenging. Not because I didn't enjoy the race but I think more because nothing went appreciably wrong which significantly reduces the number of potentially entertaining and humorous vignettes. So with that disclaimer and the disclaimer that sorry, it's long, here it is... you are always welcome to skip to the punchline. no hard feelings on this end. If you are tagged, it's because I actually mentioned you in some way and not because I thought you had a spare hour to read a novel on my GI issues :) Training and racing leading up to the race was text book. I was faster this year than I ever expected to be so going into the full Iron distance, expectations and hopes were high. And regardless of people will tell you, there are always goals inside that we only share with ourselves or one other person. So yeah, I had high hopes. With the right day and weather conditions, something really good would happen. I've heard sage advice that says don't burden your family with your disappointments as they don't know the difference between a 16:30 and an 11:30. In order to be honest in my race report, I will admit that my time was a few minutes greater than what I wanted but as usual (think "cruise amnesia" and "deployment amnesia") post-Ironman amnesia has set in. Cruise Amnesia means you forget all the bad stuff and remember only the good stuff. As in, you forget that the ship was dirty (uh, filthy....), port calls were few and far between, laundry came back dirtier than when it left (if it came back at all), there was jet fuel in the shower (when you had water to the showers), and you swear that lettuce wasn't supposed to be yellow and chicken wasn't supposed to be green. Ironman amnesia includes things like you forget that it was hottern' hell, you nearly drown at the start line, had about 3 minutes of the most overwhelming anxiety because you couldn't find the body marking, you saw some guy naked in transition (ok, that was 2008 and apparently I still haven't forgotten it), Europeans are the most bizarre people on the planet now add spandex, is Canada really a country or just another county (albeit LARGE) north of Michigan, NY and Wisconsin, eh? I arrived on Oahu Tuesday before the race to break up the trip a little (I know...that extra 100 miles to the Big Island would have put me over the edge). This also afforded an opportunity to hang out in Kailua for a day before heading into the insanity that is Kona during the week prior to the race. After a quick stop at the beach, the Green Market and a run, I headed to the circus. When I stepped off the plane, it was HOT and WINDY. Gooooood times. Not that anything different was the expectation but it's always an eye-opener even when I lived on Oahu. The leeward side of Hawaii is damn near desert. At least the coffee is good. I don't remember a lot of the following days except that I enjoyed being back in Kona, enjoyed a jog or two, enjoyed a swim from Dig Me Beach and did a short ride down the Queen K. Haysoos was busy drinking Big Wave Ale. Slacker as usual. It never ceases to amaze me how big this event is. OK, maybe not Super Bowl in terms of total people and $$ gross intake but it serves as a reminder of the entire infrastructure if you will that has grown up around triathlon. Watching the 2010 US ITU Championships on Versus yesterday, they commented that triathlon is the fastest growing sport in the nation. They do have this marketing thing down to a science. Lest you think this is meant as a negative comment on capitalist athletes, on the contrary. It's a reminder how endemic the sport is and how many people it reaches on absolutely every level of athletic ability. OK, endemic was the wrong choice of words, pandemic is probably closer since triathlon in truly global. In any case, it's a disease :) Winner Chris McCormick ran by my on Palani on his way to victory just a mile down the road. How many people can say they've competed in an athletic event along side the pros in this manner. Of course I still had 25 miles to go when he had 1 but I did spot him 30 minutes at the start. Ha. Ha. Um, yeah. I don't change my diet during race week except that there's less of it. No different the night before the race except that I eat dinner wicked early. Pizza from the Kona Brewing Company and a beer. No, I didn't eschew either beer or caffeine in the making of this film and if you have to ask why not, then you must me new and this your first rodeo. Training is such a burden that it's the little things in life that assist you in making it through. Coffee and beer/wine among those "little things". There are more but that info is TS/SCI. Race morning. In the way of background, I've gone minimalist this year. Paring down material items as well as trimming my life such that if you saw my desk at work, you'd be hard pressed to guess as to whether someone actually worked at the computer. I didn't pare down bikes of course but my promise to myself was not to add a fifth bicycle. Or a second motorcycle. Or a 1980's era Bronco. Or a dog. Heading out on training rides was minimalist as well with two bottles and a couple of gels. This led to only one Deliverance moment so it worked out well. Fast forward to race day and I was pondering the wasteland that was my nutrition plan (one bottle of highly concentrated product and one bottle of water) for 6 hours of riding. Not only that but I've been minimalist with my time as well. Meaning I'm not going to rush and I'm not going to get there a second before I have to. Many race reports talk about athletes getting up at 3 am. Whuh? Really? Yeah, me not so much. That's just more time to stress. A 5 am wakeup was plenty topped off with Kona coffee and a 6# bran muffin from the Kalapawai provided by Ted the Super Sherpa. Minimalist is good until you can't find body marking. It's on the other side of the King Kam hotel so if you don't know where you're going, this can be interesting and the warning label should read something along the lines of "may cause anxiety attack" when you can't get there from here. I was so late that they were closing up shop and putting all the stamps away but good news was I wasn't the only minimalist that day. Body marked and anxiety attack complete (so much for my zen feeling), it's now off to transition to check my bike one last time. People are everywhere and many are just sitting around transition on the ground chatting with other athletes. I feel grateful that my time line is so short that I don't have to pretend to be social, am not burdened with the requirement to be social and give myself free rein to be completely ANTI-social. It's in the genes so why fight nature. Into the water. Last year I watched from the sidelines of the sea wall. This year, it was so very rewarding to be IN what I watched last year. In the water with 2000 other athletes knowing that while there were plenty of spectathletes (you wild and crazy athletic spectators - it's a full on SPORT you know) there were only 2000 other people on this planet of 6.5 billion that would experience what you would experience this day and this day will never be again. You may come back to race again but this one is special and you are surrounded by people who get it just like you. No matter where you end up (on race day or in life), when you cross the finish line, it's officially part of your "no one can ever take this away" kit. Much could be said about the Kona swim but suffice it to say only, it's Kona and it kicks my ass. Moving on... My coach set up a very specific (yet simple...minimalist if you will) plan for the bike. It must have worked because when I was finished 6 hours later, the thought was I should have gone harder. This is good because it means there's plenty of gas in the tank for the run. Yes, it was disappointing but only because I felt fantastic coming into this race and have never been stronger on two wheels. On the up side, the climb to Hawi almost felt easy. Scary cross winds but nothing unusual. In typical fashion, I didn't get my special needs bag. The sage ones tell you not to count on them and I didn't but when you get handed a bag that ends up being the wrong bag, it has a tendency to flip a switch so my goal of not uttering the F-word went right out the F-wording window. Instead of my brownie and red bull, I got the race bag of one 40 yo Andrew Buchta. What little he put in his special needs bag tells me volumes about him that I will remember for all time. Apparently F-wording Andrew (who OBTW finished light years ahead of me and I should have taken his bag after all) likes candy and Pez so he must be a whimsical and happy go lucky 40 year old. PEZ????? ARE YOU FREAKIN' KIDDIN' ME???? AGH! At least the poor sucked who got MY bag ended up with a brownie and a red bull. I feel F-wording CHEATED! Pez. Sigh. Andrew, if we ever meet, I have a few things to share with you my friend. Other good news on the bike (aside from the bonus Pez) was that I didn't get stung this year. I've done the trip up to Hawi numerous times and never fail it seems to get tagged in the chest with a bee that digs in deep. The jury is still out on whether this is good or bad because if one DOES get stuck by a bee, it totally takes your mind off the wicked cross winds and aching disc in one's back. Good news for me was that the disc took my mind off the winds which took my mind off my back. Do the psychology math on that one. Powered by Pez-induced anger for the next 30 miles, I picked up the speed nicely. There was an unexpected tailwind for a while and the headwinds passing Kohala and Hapuna weren't as bad as usual. I had already lost all the time I would and finally things would be downhill from here....metaphorically speaking that is. Each event is so long that by the time you get done, it's like the greatest feeling ever. Hot spots on my feet, an already blistering sunburn and a back that wouldn't be quiet made provided ample motivation to get moving on the run. With visions of 2008 running through my head of starting out a 8 minute miles, I dialed it back significantly and headed out at what felt like a comfortable pace. Best news all day was no side cramps or cramps at all for that matter which have plagued me all year. Of course, I was a walking pretzel from all the salt tabs but no worries. Headed out of transition to the first right turn on Kuakini, Chris McCormick passed me at the speed of light. That little bit of excitement in the rear view, it's on with the marathon. The first ten miles were really tough this year. Ted caught a picture of me looking miserable. I didn't quite feel that bad but if you didn't know better, you'd say I was having a bad day. This is always about the time my stomach starts protesting so I stopped eating until 6 miles in (just under an hour). The turn-around seemed to take forever and in fact take so long (or so it seems) that people that were cheering you on the way out are either drunk or taking a nap by the time you come back around. I passed by a familiar spot overlooking the ocean and again reflected on the fact that my picture had been taken here two years ago during the race and how cool is it to be back. That picture has been a constant reminder and motivation to keep going with the training, keep going with life and it kept me going again here. In order to complete an Ironman, one really needs to be able to compartmentalize and cordon off sections mentally. The swim is one, Hawi another, T2, the Energy Lab, etc. Another is the short climb up Palani hill. It doesn't seem short of course but it's a steep hill. Once you get up Palani, you turn the corner and then all you hear is the breeze and are convinced that tumbleweed will be blowing by any time. There are pockets of civilization in the way of aide stations but as darkness falls, you wonder, "if I end up dead, will someone be able to find my carcass?" I've heard that IM Florida after Katrina was the worst due to the fact that FEMA took all the portable lights for New Orleans. Once you headed out into darkness... Thankfully it was still light even if a bit on the desolate side. Everything hurts at this point and you just want it over with but my mid games enable me to stay engaged. "Will I get my special needs on the run in the Energy Lab" and "Who will I blurt out the F-word to because I don't?" Folks, it's aaaallll consuming. About halfway up Palani, someone from the county of Canada passed me at a blistering pace. I wanted to shout, "YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE FASTER ON THE BIKE!" Into the pit of death. OK, way too much is made of the Energy Lab. It's not that hard especially after everything you've already been through. Down the gradual hill, right turn to the lab, hit the timing mat and head back. Low and behold, they had my special needs bag waiting. I had scrawled on it the day before, "I WANT MY RED BULL!!" and apparently the guys found this funny. As I rolled up, before I could say anything, they yelled, "HEY WE HAVE YOUR RED BULL!! WOOOOOOO" God. Bless. You. Son. While in 2008, I found that anger and adrenaline will carry you about, oh, 6 miles, this year I found that my shot of energy in the form of caffeine, sugar and chocolate (yup, brownies too) will do the same. Mo' bettuh too. Heading back up the hill, most of the race is in the bag and you're finally realizing that this may happen. Up until you get to this point, there are always doubts on if you'll be able to finish. There are so many variables - injury, winds, heat, nutrition, penalties, blah, blah, blah... With only 6 miles to go, it seems real. Up the Energy Lab Hill, right on Queen Ka'ahumanu, and head towards town. In terms of the military competition, I had pretty much written it off because I never saw Air Force (she finished in 10:40 or so), Coast Guard was about 2 miles ahead and Army was a mile ahead. With only 6 miles to go, it seemed impossible. Enter Ted the Super Sherpa at about mile 138. I hadn't seen him once on the course (or at least that i can remember - it's a haze) so seeing him ride up on the Scooter of Justice was a welcome sight. We chat briefly and I asked if he would have Haysoos ready for me as I round Ali'i drive so he can cross with me. He moves on and next thing I know, he's back saying the Army girl is walking only 4 cones (about 100 meters) ahead. Once again I fail on my goal not to say the F-word but at least this time it's a good thing as in YGBFSM! And "Holy sh!t!" I crank up as much juice as I have in the tank praying desperately that I have enough blood sugar on board to support my heart rate that is now borderline red-zone for the next 20 minutes. After about 5 minutes I see her ahead, tell her good luck and to finish strong and pass without a look back. Unless you get the Army/Navy rivalry, this wouldn't mean much but just understand that this one pass made 11 hours and 44 minutes of pain worth every last effort and it entirely erased any bad feeling I might have had about the race. Navy football can be 0-10 but if they beat Army, all is forgiven. I ended up besting her by a mere 4 minutes and big-picture, the Air Force was unstoppable, but at least Jonser and I put out the best we could with a small victory, however so slight. One last jaunt down Palani which is just as painful as up mind you (creaking joints, sore knees, screaming quads) and right on Kualalai, it's time for the victory lap. Ted was waiting with Haysoos. I'm sure that climbing Mt. Everest would be cool and trekking the Himalayas is inspiring but to someone who had spent the last two years on a journey to this spot, it's the most wonderful feeling of accomplishment I can imagine. All the hours on the trainer in Kuwait, all the laps, Saturday rides, 4:30 wake ups (not often but enough...), it's all for this moment. It may strike some people outside this spectacle that it's narrow how we define our identities on this race but it's not just the identity of the race but the identity of a lifestyle that celebrates not just physical but mental and emotional endurance like few other sports can. Not only that, but more importantly it's a lifestyle that celebrates accomplishment within our lives meaning the greater majority of the 2000 in the race are employed with full-time jobs, families and children. We aren't taking off two months to climb Mt. Everest or trek the Himalayas. We are putting the period on our season long sentence with a more than a little bit of flair and gusto. Except for the Honu of course who once again rode in on my coat tails. This is getting terribly long but I would be horribly remiss in not mentioning my Armed Forces siblings. The military was featured in the October edition of Triathlete as an occupation that is friendly to training and racing (triathlon specifically but really for most all sports). Yeah, the job is conducive to start with but we also grow a product/person that is more inclined to have that passion and fire demanded by the Ironman event. Not that I have anything against civilians but I have surrounded myself with military or those in close contact with the military voluntarily. Both of my coaches have been military the current being a Navy Reserve Captain and Naval Aviator who drinks from the same koolaide bowl as I. I've been far more excited about racing for Navy than I ever have racing for myself and it so much more motivates me when I have Sailors who want to talk sports and triathlon than anyone else. We work, sleep, deploy, fly and go on liberty together and at the end of the day, we still love and respect each other. Not true about my entire military experience but certainly the huge majority and particularly in triathlon. With family and "family" rooting for me all the way from from Hawaii to CONUS, and Italy to Kuwait (God bless you Liston!), it's humbling to know that so many care regardless of the final score. It is also incredibly humbling to be accepted as the face of All Navy Triathlon and Ironman not once but twice despite being the decrepit age of 40. It's an expensive gig and the Navy can always pull the plug (as well as the IM corporation for that matter) and yet still here we are. So to my intrepid spouse Gonzo (Navy Ironman stud and Fighter Pilot extraordinaire), the Cooks (Jerald - Navy Kona Competitor, Molly Navy tri stud), Dave Haas (Navy Kona Competitor), John "Sea Bass" Marinovich (Navy Kona Competitor), Lee Boyer (Navy Kona Competitor), Nick Brown (Navy Kona Competitor), the Cocanours (Spencer - Kona Military Representative to the Armed Forces Teams), the Ferreiras (Mike - USCG Kona Competitor), Brent Joaquin (Navy Tri stud), Belinda Wray (Navy tri stud), the Springers (Navy and USCG tri Studs), the Kauns (Kurt - Former Navy and current tri stud) and Doug Marocco (USMC tri and marathon legend), thanks for your inspiration, motivation, dedication to military triathlon and dedication to being military members involved in triathlon. If I've missed a few my apologies; there are so many. A special thanks to Ted Nugent (Former Army and current Xterra tri stud) and Olwen Huxley (athletic stud across the board and philosopher extraordinaire) both associated with military and triathlon who have been some of the best mentors I have in this sport. Additionally, your friendship (and sherpa services) have been far above and beyond the call of duty and I owe you a debt of gratitude for not only supporting me in triathlon but in life as well these last few years. To my coach Scott Jones, fellow team mate, fellow Naval Aviator, fellow Kona competitor, you never ended up on a Wheaties Box like Doug but I respect you nonetheless simply because you and I speak from the same source and breath from the same atmosphere of personal responsibility and passion for self improvement. Plus you use the F-word too. Thanks for taking me in when I was lost in the woods :). I owe you big and one day hope to grow up and be a sherpa at your summer camps. Lastly, your wife Teresa continues to be an inspiration as she belts out sub-11 hours at 53. Fifty-F-wording-three. We are not worthy. To my family both by blood and by Ohana, Hawaiian and otherwise (Val, Julie and Jen specifically), I can try several ways to express my gratitude: 1) Using one word - "cowbell!!!" (Or maybe "THERAPY!!") 2) Using two words: "you rock" or probably the most suitable for your support for me: 3) Using three words: "I love you" :) Mad Dog and Meggie, Gracie and TJ, aim high and I hope I've given you something to shoot not only for, but beyond. Aloha, Kristin/Rosie

Ironman World Championship Recap, October 15th 2010

Well maybe the third time's the charm. I've tried two ther times to get something suitable for print and think I'm actually there. These race reports of mine tend to be entertaining but for the life of me, this one's been challenging. Not because I didn't enjoy the race but I think more because nothing went appreciably wrong which significantly reduces the number of potentially entertaining and humorous vignettes. So with that disclaimer and the disclaimer that sorry, it's long, here it is... you are always welcome to skip to the punchline. no hard feelings on this end. If you are tagged, it's because I actually mentioned you in some way and not because I thought you had a spare hour to read a novel on my GI issues :) Training and racing leading up to the race was text book. I was faster this year than I ever expected to be so going into the full Iron distance, expectations and hopes were high. And regardless of people will tell you, there are always goals inside that we only share with ourselves or one other person. So yeah, I had high hopes. With the right day and weather conditions, something really good would happen. I've heard sage advice that says don't burden your family with your disappointments as they don't know the difference between a 16:30 and an 11:30. In order to be honest in my race report, I will admit that my time was a few minutes greater than what I wanted but as usual (think "cruise amnesia" and "deployment amnesia") post-Ironman amnesia has set in. Cruise Amnesia means you forget all the bad stuff and remember only the good stuff. As in, you forget that the ship was dirty (uh, filthy....), port calls were few and far between, laundry came back dirtier than when it left (if it came back at all), there was jet fuel in the shower (when you had water to the showers), and you swear that lettuce wasn't supposed to be yellow and chicken wasn't supposed to be green. Ironman amnesia includes things like you forget that it was hottern' hell, you nearly drown at the start line, had about 3 minutes of the most overwhelming anxiety because you couldn't find the body marking, you saw some guy naked in transition (ok, that was 2008 and apparently I still haven't forgotten it), Europeans are the most bizarre people on the planet now add spandex, is Canada really a country or just another county (albeit LARGE) north of Michigan, NY and Wisconsin, eh? I arrived on Oahu Tuesday before the race to break up the trip a little (I know...that extra 100 miles to the Big Island would have put me over the edge). This also afforded an opportunity to hang out in Kailua for a day before heading into the insanity that is Kona during the week prior to the race. After a quick stop at the beach, the Green Market and a run, I headed to the circus. When I stepped off the plane, it was HOT and WINDY. Gooooood times. Not that anything different was the expectation but it's always an eye-opener even when I lived on Oahu. The leeward side of Hawaii is damn near desert. At least the coffee is good. I don't remember a lot of the following days except that I enjoyed being back in Kona, enjoyed a jog or two, enjoyed a swim from Dig Me Beach and did a short ride down the Queen K. Haysoos was busy drinking Big Wave Ale. Slacker as usual. It never ceases to amaze me how big this event is. OK, maybe not Super Bowl in terms of total people and $$ gross intake but it serves as a reminder of the entire infrastructure if you will that has grown up around triathlon. Watching the 2010 US ITU Championships on Versus yesterday, they commented that triathlon is the fastest growing sport in the nation. They do have this marketing thing down to a science. Lest you think this is meant as a negative comment on capitalist athletes, on the contrary. It's a reminder how endemic the sport is and how many people it reaches on absolutely every level of athletic ability. OK, endemic was the wrong choice of words, pandemic is probably closer since triathlon in truly global. In any case, it's a disease :) Winner Chris McCormick ran by my on Palani on his way to victory just a mile down the road. How many people can say they've competed in an athletic event along side the pros in this manner. Of course I still had 25 miles to go when he had 1 but I did spot him 30 minutes at the start. Ha. Ha. Um, yeah. I don't change my diet during race week except that there's less of it. No different the night before the race except that I eat dinner wicked early. Pizza from the Kona Brewing Company and a beer. No, I didn't eschew either beer or caffeine in the making of this film and if you have to ask why not, then you must me new and this your first rodeo. Training is such a burden that it's the little things in life that assist you in making it through. Coffee and beer/wine among those "little things". There are more but that info is TS/SCI. Race morning. In the way of background, I've gone minimalist this year. Paring down material items as well as trimming my life such that if you saw my desk at work, you'd be hard pressed to guess as to whether someone actually worked at the computer. I didn't pare down bikes of course but my promise to myself was not to add a fifth bicycle. Or a second motorcycle. Or a 1980's era Bronco. Or a dog. Heading out on training rides was minimalist as well with two bottles and a couple of gels. This led to only one Deliverance moment so it worked out well. Fast forward to race day and I was pondering the wasteland that was my nutrition plan (one bottle of highly concentrated product and one bottle of water) for 6 hours of riding. Not only that but I've been minimalist with my time as well. Meaning I'm not going to rush and I'm not going to get there a second before I have to. Many race reports talk about athletes getting up at 3 am. Whuh? Really? Yeah, me not so much. That's just more time to stress. A 5 am wakeup was plenty topped off with Kona coffee and a 6# bran muffin from the Kalapawai provided by Ted the Super Sherpa. Minimalist is good until you can't find body marking. It's on the other side of the King Kam hotel so if you don't know where you're going, this can be interesting and the warning label should read something along the lines of "may cause anxiety attack" when you can't get there from here. I was so late that they were closing up shop and putting all the stamps away but good news was I wasn't the only minimalist that day. Body marked and anxiety attack complete (so much for my zen feeling), it's now off to transition to check my bike one last time. People are everywhere and many are just sitting around transition on the ground chatting with other athletes. I feel grateful that my time line is so short that I don't have to pretend to be social, am not burdened with the requirement to be social and give myself free rein to be completely ANTI-social. It's in the genes so why fight nature. Into the water. Last year I watched from the sidelines of the sea wall. This year, it was so very rewarding to be IN what I watched last year. In the water with 2000 other athletes knowing that while there were plenty of spectathletes (you wild and crazy athletic spectators - it's a full on SPORT you know) there were only 2000 other people on this planet of 6.5 billion that would experience what you would experience this day and this day will never be again. You may come back to race again but this one is special and you are surrounded by people who get it just like you. No matter where you end up (on race day or in life), when you cross the finish line, it's officially part of your "no one can ever take this away" kit. Much could be said about the Kona swim but suffice it to say only, it's Kona and it kicks my ass. Moving on... My coach set up a very specific (yet simple...minimalist if you will) plan for the bike. It must have worked because when I was finished 6 hours later, the thought was I should have gone harder. This is good because it means there's plenty of gas in the tank for the run. Yes, it was disappointing but only because I felt fantastic coming into this race and have never been stronger on two wheels. On the up side, the climb to Hawi almost felt easy. Scary cross winds but nothing unusual. In typical fashion, I didn't get my special needs bag. The sage ones tell you not to count on them and I didn't but when you get handed a bag that ends up being the wrong bag, it has a tendency to flip a switch so my goal of not uttering the F-word went right out the F-wording window. Instead of my brownie and red bull, I got the race bag of one 40 yo Andrew Buchta. What little he put in his special needs bag tells me volumes about him that I will remember for all time. Apparently F-wording Andrew (who OBTW finished light years ahead of me and I should have taken his bag after all) likes candy and Pez so he must be a whimsical and happy go lucky 40 year old. PEZ????? ARE YOU FREAKIN' KIDDIN' ME???? AGH! At least the poor sucked who got MY bag ended up with a brownie and a red bull. I feel F-wording CHEATED! Pez. Sigh. Andrew, if we ever meet, I have a few things to share with you my friend. Other good news on the bike (aside from the bonus Pez) was that I didn't get stung this year. I've done the trip up to Hawi numerous times and never fail it seems to get tagged in the chest with a bee that digs in deep. The jury is still out on whether this is good or bad because if one DOES get stuck by a bee, it totally takes your mind off the wicked cross winds and aching disc in one's back. Good news for me was that the disc took my mind off the winds which took my mind off my back. Do the psychology math on that one. Powered by Pez-induced anger for the next 30 miles, I picked up the speed nicely. There was an unexpected tailwind for a while and the headwinds passing Kohala and Hapuna weren't as bad as usual. I had already lost all the time I would and finally things would be downhill from here....metaphorically speaking that is. Each event is so long that by the time you get done, it's like the greatest feeling ever. Hot spots on my feet, an already blistering sunburn and a back that wouldn't be quiet made provided ample motivation to get moving on the run. With visions of 2008 running through my head of starting out a 8 minute miles, I dialed it back significantly and headed out at what felt like a comfortable pace. Best news all day was no side cramps or cramps at all for that matter which have plagued me all year. Of course, I was a walking pretzel from all the salt tabs but no worries. Headed out of transition to the first right turn on Kuakini, Chris McCormick passed me at the speed of light. That little bit of excitement in the rear view, it's on with the marathon. The first ten miles were really tough this year. Ted caught a picture of me looking miserable. I didn't quite feel that bad but if you didn't know better, you'd say I was having a bad day. This is always about the time my stomach starts protesting so I stopped eating until 6 miles in (just under an hour). The turn-around seemed to take forever and in fact take so long (or so it seems) that people that were cheering you on the way out are either drunk or taking a nap by the time you come back around. I passed by a familiar spot overlooking the ocean and again reflected on the fact that my picture had been taken here two years ago during the race and how cool is it to be back. That picture has been a constant reminder and motivation to keep going with the training, keep going with life and it kept me going again here. In order to complete an Ironman, one really needs to be able to compartmentalize and cordon off sections mentally. The swim is one, Hawi another, T2, the Energy Lab, etc. Another is the short climb up Palani hill. It doesn't seem short of course but it's a steep hill. Once you get up Palani, you turn the corner and then all you hear is the breeze and are convinced that tumbleweed will be blowing by any time. There are pockets of civilization in the way of aide stations but as darkness falls, you wonder, "if I end up dead, will someone be able to find my carcass?" I've heard that IM Florida after Katrina was the worst due to the fact that FEMA took all the portable lights for New Orleans. Once you headed out into darkness... Thankfully it was still light even if a bit on the desolate side. Everything hurts at this point and you just want it over with but my mid games enable me to stay engaged. "Will I get my special needs on the run in the Energy Lab" and "Who will I blurt out the F-word to because I don't?" Folks, it's aaaallll consuming. About halfway up Palani, someone from the county of Canada passed me at a blistering pace. I wanted to shout, "YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE FASTER ON THE BIKE!" Into the pit of death. OK, way too much is made of the Energy Lab. It's not that hard especially after everything you've already been through. Down the gradual hill, right turn to the lab, hit the timing mat and head back. Low and behold, they had my special needs bag waiting. I had scrawled on it the day before, "I WANT MY RED BULL!!" and apparently the guys found this funny. As I rolled up, before I could say anything, they yelled, "HEY WE HAVE YOUR RED BULL!! WOOOOOOO" God. Bless. You. Son. While in 2008, I found that anger and adrenaline will carry you about, oh, 6 miles, this year I found that my shot of energy in the form of caffeine, sugar and chocolate (yup, brownies too) will do the same. Mo' bettuh too. Heading back up the hill, most of the race is in the bag and you're finally realizing that this may happen. Up until you get to this point, there are always doubts on if you'll be able to finish. There are so many variables - injury, winds, heat, nutrition, penalties, blah, blah, blah... With only 6 miles to go, it seems real. Up the Energy Lab Hill, right on Queen Ka'ahumanu, and head towards town. In terms of the military competition, I had pretty much written it off because I never saw Air Force (she finished in 10:40 or so), Coast Guard was about 2 miles ahead and Army was a mile ahead. With only 6 miles to go, it seemed impossible. Enter Ted the Super Sherpa at about mile 138. I hadn't seen him once on the course (or at least that i can remember - it's a haze) so seeing him ride up on the Scooter of Justice was a welcome sight. We chat briefly and I asked if he would have Haysoos ready for me as I round Ali'i drive so he can cross with me. He moves on and next thing I know, he's back saying the Army girl is walking only 4 cones (about 100 meters) ahead. Once again I fail on my goal not to say the F-word but at least this time it's a good thing as in YGBFSM! And "Holy sh!t!" I crank up as much juice as I have in the tank praying desperately that I have enough blood sugar on board to support my heart rate that is now borderline red-zone for the next 20 minutes. After about 5 minutes I see her ahead, tell her good luck and to finish strong and pass without a look back. Unless you get the Army/Navy rivalry, this wouldn't mean much but just understand that this one pass made 11 hours and 44 minutes of pain worth every last effort and it entirely erased any bad feeling I might have had about the race. Navy football can be 0-10 but if they beat Army, all is forgiven. I ended up besting her by a mere 4 minutes and big-picture, the Air Force was unstoppable, but at least Jonser and I put out the best we could with a small victory, however so slight. One last jaunt down Palani which is just as painful as up mind you (creaking joints, sore knees, screaming quads) and right on Kualalai, it's time for the victory lap. Ted was waiting with Haysoos. I'm sure that climbing Mt. Everest would be cool and trekking the Himalayas is inspiring but to someone who had spent the last two years on a journey to this spot, it's the most wonderful feeling of accomplishment I can imagine. All the hours on the trainer in Kuwait, all the laps, Saturday rides, 4:30 wake ups (not often but enough...), it's all for this moment. It may strike some people outside this spectacle that it's narrow how we define our identities on this race but it's not just the identity of the race but the identity of a lifestyle that celebrates not just physical but mental and emotional endurance like few other sports can. Not only that, but more importantly it's a lifestyle that celebrates accomplishment within our lives meaning the greater majority of the 2000 in the race are employed with full-time jobs, families and children. We aren't taking off two months to climb Mt. Everest or trek the Himalayas. We are putting the period on our season long sentence with a more than a little bit of flair and gusto. Except for the Honu of course who once again rode in on my coat tails. This is getting terribly long but I would be horribly remiss in not mentioning my Armed Forces siblings. The military was featured in the October edition of Triathlete as an occupation that is friendly to training and racing (triathlon specifically but really for most all sports). Yeah, the job is conducive to start with but we also grow a product/person that is more inclined to have that passion and fire demanded by the Ironman event. Not that I have anything against civilians but I have surrounded myself with military or those in close contact with the military voluntarily. Both of my coaches have been military the current being a Navy Reserve Captain and Naval Aviator who drinks from the same koolaide bowl as I. I've been far more excited about racing for Navy than I ever have racing for myself and it so much more motivates me when I have Sailors who want to talk sports and triathlon than anyone else. We work, sleep, deploy, fly and go on liberty together and at the end of the day, we still love and respect each other. Not true about my entire military experience but certainly the huge majority and particularly in triathlon. With family and "family" rooting for me all the way from from Hawaii to CONUS, and Italy to Kuwait (God bless you Liston!), it's humbling to know that so many care regardless of the final score. It is also incredibly humbling to be accepted as the face of All Navy Triathlon and Ironman not once but twice despite being the decrepit age of 40. It's an expensive gig and the Navy can always pull the plug (as well as the IM corporation for that matter) and yet still here we are. So to my intrepid spouse Gonzo (Navy Ironman stud and Fighter Pilot extraordinaire), the Cooks (Jerald - Navy Kona Competitor, Molly Navy tri stud), Dave Haas (Navy Kona Competitor), John "Sea Bass" Marinovich (Navy Kona Competitor), Lee Boyer (Navy Kona Competitor), Nick Brown (Navy Kona Competitor), the Cocanours (Spencer - Kona Military Representative to the Armed Forces Teams), the Ferreiras (Mike - USCG Kona Competitor), Brent Joaquin (Navy Tri stud), Belinda Wray (Navy tri stud), the Springers (Navy and USCG tri Studs), the Kauns (Kurt - Former Navy and current tri stud) and Doug Marocco (USMC tri and marathon legend), thanks for your inspiration, motivation, dedication to military triathlon and dedication to being military members involved in triathlon. If I've missed a few my apologies; there are so many. A special thanks to Ted Nugent (Former Army and current Xterra tri stud) and Olwen Huxley (athletic stud across the board and philosopher extraordinaire) both associated with military and triathlon who have been some of the best mentors I have in this sport. Additionally, your friendship (and sherpa services) have been far above and beyond the call of duty and I owe you a debt of gratitude for not only supporting me in triathlon but in life as well these last few years. To my coach Scott Jones, fellow team mate, fellow Naval Aviator, fellow Kona competitor, you never ended up on a Wheaties Box like Doug but I respect you nonetheless simply because you and I speak from the same source and breath from the same atmosphere of personal responsibility and passion for self improvement. Plus you use the F-word too. Thanks for taking me in when I was lost in the woods :). I owe you big and one day hope to grow up and be a sherpa at your summer camps. Lastly, your wife Teresa continues to be an inspiration as she belts out sub-11 hours at 53. Fifty-F-wording-three. We are not worthy. To my family both by blood and by Ohana, Hawaiian and otherwise (Val, Julie and Jen specifically), I can try several ways to express my gratitude: 1) Using one word - "cowbell!!!" (Or maybe "THERAPY!!") 2) Using two words: "you rock" or probably the most suitable for your support for me: 3) Using three words: "I love you" :) Mad Dog and Meggie, Gracie and TJ, aim high and I hope I've given you something to shoot not only for, but beyond. Aloha, Kristin/Rosie

Timberman 70.3 Triathlon. August 23, 2010

Many of my posts in the last few years have actually ended up on Facebook. I've decided to transfer some of them over so they are saved for posterity. So without further ado, here are some older posts: From August 23rd, 2010 Lake Winnipi....Lake Winnepa...From some lake in Vermont... Since Joe was interested, I caved and decided to write a race report. No one is tagged (except for maybe my coach) so if you happen to find this, then you must actually be interested. If this is the case, I highly encourage you to get a life, open a bottle of wine and find something better to do than read about my GI issues and listen to my ego spout off about how great I am. If you happen to have nothing better to do, then settle in (this will go well with a nice Pinot or Meritage) and enjoy. Also, you have my sincere sympathies. I am always available to make suggestions on better things to do if you need help. Without further ado... Timberman Half Ironman takes place in wonderful New England. Not bad unless you consider the weather can be sketchy. Wouldn't you know, for the sprint on Saturday, the weather was incredible. About 80 and not a cloud in the sky. Come Sunday morning about 2am, I was awoken by the sound of a gentle summer rain. Nice but not good news. Back up a few days to capture the entire experience, we drove up after a week full of Navy-related festivities and over indulging so the week of focus on fitness was welcome. Time to get over the hangover. Friday was spent enjoying our cottage on Lake Winnipisaukee, a mere mile from the start line. We got seriously lucky on location although the place (as they say in New England) was "wicked smahhhhl". In Navy speak, that translates as "fuckin' tiny!" No worries - there's always room for two sets of tri gear, two bikes and two people. It's just tight is all. Friday was a brief ride of about an hour just to get 14 HOURS of driving out of our system. For the record, DO NOT go over the GW Bridge in New York. Wow. So yeah...ride not so good. Seriously hoping that the body will wake up in time to do 70.3 miles the day after tomorrow. Not only that but the 14 hours in the car extended to the bike. If you're married you know what I mean. Yes, we're still friends :) Saturday was spent with my little sister in Boston. It started with a quick swim in the lake where we quickly realized that even as beautiful as it was, it wasn't Hawaii although the beer cans at the bottom of the lake were a nice touch. After a drive to Boston, we had a great time at the aquarium and somewhere in the back of my head was this little voice that said, "wow, you really should be taking this race more seriously". Screw that, give me more chow-duh. Anyway, good to see this branch of the family after several years. Deployment does that. Moving on... We return to the Gilford area Saturday afternoon in time for Joe to get us in trouble for drinking beer on the resort premises - Miller light in cans no less. Shit I felt like I was 15 again except that it wasn't Keystone light. Again, maybe I should be taking this race more seriously. Mandatory race meeting results: bike separation is now 4 bike lengths. I'd like to take a moment now to thank all the cheaters in the world that have made life harder on the rest of us. Beer packed up safely away, we head back to our cottage for a pre-race meal of peanut butter toast - and beer. Dinner of champions. Quote was overheard, "I better set up my gear before I hammered. You never know what it's going to end up looking like." With another sixer of Land Shark, we're off to bed for the 5:15 wakeup. Transition doesn't close until 7:00 so we decided not to get there until the last minute. For you hard core racers out there, I highly recommend this tactic. In aviation we have a saying that if you give me fours hours to plan for a strike, I'll take four hours. If you give me four minutes, I'll take four minutes and give you the EXACT same plan. Same here. Don't get there early. Especially when it's cold (about 60) and there's the possibility of rain. As per our usual, we left our nutrition in the fridge so Joe headed back to the cottage to pick up bottles and sunglasses that were also left behind. Ironic in that when we left our cottage, we were making fun of all the people (Tim O'Donnell included) that we saw running before the race. We only made fun of him because he was doing these really silly high kick things. If you're a pro, aren't you supposed to do cool things? Just sayin' is all. So Joe gets back to transition about 7 minutes before it closes all nice and sweaty. OK, time to put on the wet suit. If you've ever tried to put on a wet suit already wet, you know how this went. Monkey. Football. Too bad I didn't have a camera on me to capture the moment as he did me the day before. Jerk. (I know you're reading this and laughing schmoopie...) Off to the start. Clouds are looming but we expect that the rain will hold off. I am furiously searching my horoscope and doing rain dances to ensure that God will not put me in both cold weather and rain at the same time because that would be cruel and unusual punishment. After a year in the middle east, He took pity on me. the rain held off. More on that later. No pre-race jitters. Just quiet confidence. A nice change being ready to go without all the fuss. So there are a few waves. 15 or so. This is such a nice change from the usual mass start where you are literally trampled (in the water no less which in translation means: "nearly drowned by people who I would otherwise crush on the bike") by over zealous swimmers. This was so much more gentlemanly and I heartily applaud the race organizers for taking the time and effort to start the race in this manner. As a result, the 40-44 women were able to actually get in a groove without either getting bunched up or too strung out and as a side note, I was actually able to pass people on the swim. An absolute first. Swim took forever. They always do even when "gentle" as this one was. There were some waves out at distance but relatively speaking, a great swim. The only down side was that the lake is shallow so when you think you're close to the shore and can walk/run to the shore, think again. It's like the knight in Monty Python. It make take you forever so just keep swimming. Shore. Wet suit strippers. 'nuff said. Love 'em. Transition 1. T1. Put cold weather gear on a wet body. Good luck. Thankfully I still have that zen feeling from the start and instead of screaming "WHAT. THE. FUCK. AAAAGH!!!" at my arm warmers, it's more of an out of body experience where I'm saying to myself, "Wow, this really is taking forever and I wonder if they'll have coffee at the first aid station. Because coffee would be nice. yeah.....warm coffee. And beer. Or chowder. yeah, chowder would be nice." the nice thing about T1 is that there were lots of bikes in transition. Meaning, I didn't come out of the water last for once. The swim went very well. Head out for the bike nice and warm but was one cup of coffee/chowder poorer. You'd think that New England would be better prepared but no. I've never experienced a ride that had so little wind. Maybe I'm jaded between Hawaii and Va Beach but there was seriously no wind. Amazing. Hauling ass on the flats at 25 mph was amazing. There were some pretty challenging climbs but everything you lost on the climb you gained on the downhills. As a pretty good climber, I managed to make up about 6 spots on the bike moving from 15th in my AG to 9th. The back half of the bike threatened rain but thankfully it held off. Kept the door open for hauling ass about 40 mph down some really big hills. That just puts a smile on your face when you're crazy. We do things in races that we would NEVER do in training. Unless you're Hitch and then you brief training rules to fly in combat. That's an inside joke. My second half was slower than the first half due to some back issues but I still managed a pretty good time on a hilly course especially considering I'm training on the flats. FTR, still no chowder or coffee. But no rain either. God grants from time to time. Rain on the bike no fun at all. Transition to run. Much better. 2 minutes in an extended transition zone. Meaning 1) rack bike, 2) put on shoes, 3) take off jacket and crap, 4) leave. My coach said to run the first half "easy" meaning push the HR but save the best for the second half and speed up throughout the run. I forgot this. I ran really hard the first half and then remembered what he told me. Crap. this means I now have to run even faster. Course is hilly and it's now raining. add to that the fact that I've been inserting Gu as fast as possible in an effort to stave off the bonk which I'm prone to do these days (really low BF %) and the body finally said, "um yeah....not so much". This is grown up time. Coach says, "You gotta play through the pain." and I'm on board. After my experience with the Soma Half in AZ (Fall, 2007), I caved to the same thing (meaning a "rest stop) and lost several minutes so I decided to challenge the body and keep going. Mile 6 was decidedly unpleasant. Press on for another mile or two and the body decides I'm serious so "She called our bluff...OK we'll keep going". The gamble pays off without embarrassing consequences. But then the realization of my coached instructions kicks in and I realize I need to kick it up a notch. Perceived effort goes up, real pain goes up and I'm officially paying to play. Funny thing is the times were exactly the same (two loop course). Last mile of the race was a 7:00 flat. Dig deep I say. And seriously, after a year with the Army, I can do anything for 5 hours. End result was outstanding. All in all a great race and the result was a PR (thanks to no stop on the run). nutrition went well (up to a point). My half IM run has improved from 2:05 in 2007 to 1:46 this year. Swim better by 7 minutes, Bike better by 15 minutes. Can't ask for more. Would have preferred not to jump in the car for another 13 hour round and a trip through New York but this time, we went through Tappan Zee instead of GW. Also FTR, don't stop while on the NJ turnpike. The place sucks, it costs too much and there's no real coffee. Speaking of which, no coffee until we got back to the cottage after the race but I would like to add that the post-race food for Timberman was BY FAR the best I've ever seen. Nice. Spread. Cheese. And chowder. :) It's 10:00 and time to hit the rack because apparently rumor has it I have a day job and need to return on Tuesday. Thanks to my coach and to schmoopie for putting up with me for the 33+ hours we spent in a car together over the past 5 days. You're a trooper. 5:35 ain't too shabby either, camper! Good job now get back to work, Skipper!