DeJulius

15 NEW Facts of my Life

2012-02-01T22:52:00.003-05:00

29th birthday drinks at an Elmhurst wine bar...with a fantastic beer list. Who knew?

I took a proper off season for the first time in 2 years - precipitated by life changing opportunity
Stacey and I now live in Elmhurst, IL just outside of Chicago. Good bye Franklin, TN
Elmhurst is an eclectic, small college town with a great vibe, character and a deep tradition and heritage in running - it is a running town through and through
We are the new owners/operators of Fleet Feet Sports Elmhurst - Dreams really do come true
We work A LOT, and when we are not working, we are running, or eating, or sleeping
I am 2 months back into a real training schedule - and feeling good
I wrote an ambitious race schedule for 2012 - taking advantage of many great regional races
I will support BAFF, but not race with them in 2012 - going solo, but will always be a proud cofounder of the team
There are some great training grounds in Elmhurst, but it doesn't have this - and I miss it
I have big plans for big races in 2012 - Always ambitious
Stacey and I couldn't be happier with our new life - but totally miss our dear friends down south
We miss our real family in Cleveland, Ohio even more - the most
We have already met some really great people here in Elmhurst - it feels like home
We live in the old Ovaltine Chocolate Company Factory, turned urban studio lofts 2008
Even from "the burbs" the big city lights are faster and brighter than we are used to, but so far so good. It's certainly making the daze that much more unclear...and I like it
Coming soon...

No, Not that Vegas...

2011-09-11T18:00:00.000-04:00

September 10, 2011 Nashvegas Olympic Triathlon Race Report

I felt more relaxed before this race than any other allseason. Coming off of Nationalsjust a few weeks earlier, my nerves were not phased in the slightest by thislocal yet competitive event. Justa few minutes before the gun, I took a warm-up swim out to the first buoy, Iswam super hard for a warm-up. Itfelt good. At that point I decidedto take a friend’s advice and go out hard right at the gun. A complete sprint to the first buoy andsettle in from there, hell what did I have to lose. So I stood in waste deep water in the very front of the packready to make a jail break for the buoy with complete disregard for the rest ofthe swim and race. And when thegun went off, I did just that. Iswam as hard as I possibly could right toward the first turn, about threehundred yards out. To my completesurprise, when I got there I was alone, “holy shit it worked”! Well, almost, there was one kid aboutone hundred yards ahead of me, “damn swimmers, oh well, bet he can’t run”.

Photo Credit: Donna Manely

With total confidence in my decision and lead on the pack I kepton the pace and settled into a good stroke. Turning upstream on the last buoy was like turning into afire hose, the river current was really strong. One final hard effort similar to the one at the start of therace got me to the exit ramp with a solid five minute lead on the rest of therace and only forty five seconds down from the lead swimmer. Feeling good, in and out of T1, smooth.

Getting on the bike I knew two things. One, I wanted to catch the swimmer orat least get him in eyesight. Two,I wanted to hold off my uber-biker buddy who was in the chase pack somewherebehind me. With those two thingsin mind I pedaled forward as hard as I could, again without much regard forpacing or the run, “I’ll worry about that when I get there”.

All alone out on the main part of the out and back course Itried to stay steady and consistent while going up and down the endless mediumand small rollers. Only a fewdemanded out of saddle effort. After fifteen minutes I still couldn’t see anyone, in front or behindwhich was bad and good. It washarder than I thought to keep a consistent, stiff pace when I was completelyalone on the road, the situation demanded my complete focus and provoked asmall amount of paranoia.

Photo Credit: Donna Manely

Finally about a minute before the turn, I saw the swimmercoming at me on his way back, “damn, he is holding position, but I still bet hecan’t run”. I made the turn andalmost immediately saw my buddy coming for me, he had made up all five minuteson the bike (no surprise) and made the pass right after the turn “don’t worryFrank, I can’t run like you” he yelled as he smoked past. It made me laugh, but I knew I had tokeep him close. He underestimates hisrunning ability. New goal, ridehard and keep him close. With therolling hills hitting us on the way back, my goal faded quickly as he continuedto simply out power me up and down the roller coaster roads back totransition. I had to stay withinmy limits, although I wasn’t concerned with pacing earlier, now I knew Ihad to save my running legs to take this race back. Without a fight, I let him go up the road as I focused onthe rest of my ride with confidence in my running legs. The last few miles I was able to seefar up the road and could tell he had also passed the swimmer who was finallyfading. I kept on the gas and onthe final road into transition I caught the swimmer but just followed him in; apass on the small park access road would not have been safe and really didn’t really matter. Right before we dismounted I saw thelead runner coming out of transition “stay away, Frank” he yelled with asmile. I smiled too. The swimmer and I entered T2together.

Photo Credit: Donna Manely

A smooth and speedy in and out got me through transition andrunning way before the swimmer. Inever saw him again. Once again, Iwas being told I was about one minute or so down from the leader, which was thegood thing. The bad thing was thatI could tell my legs were not one hundred percent, maybe seventy-five. Either way I had to keep running.Immediately my HR was way too high and I had to make the decision to settleinto a slightly slower pace, allow my HR to calm down, and take my ChocolateHammer Gel. It went down like aslug but I needed it (and it worked), a quick look behind showed that I wasalone again, no one in sight either direction. The first few miles were relatively smooth but my legs andhips were too tight, I could feel it. I was getting anxious too, “where is he?” My pace wasn’t exactly that of a late race rundown but I washopeful, I just kept running as hard as I could and ignored everythingelse, like my 185 HR. The one thing hard to ignore was the temptation to look behind. Even though I knew I had a sizable lead off the bike and hadn't seen anyone (including the swimmer) behind on the run to this point, I was constantly tempted to look back to see if I was being stalked by some super fast runner coming out of now where. I only looked a few times, but was tempted many more.

Photo Credit: Donna Manely

Right before the turnaround I saw him coming at me, wesmiled and high-fived, fewer words were exchanged, I just let him know “you gotme today, I don’t have it” A little dose of head games? Maybe? A little honest slip of conceding truth? Probably. The crazy thing was, at this point he was closer than ever,I was just sixty seconds (if that) down but I was doing all I could. As we went back out on the main roadtoward the finish, another racer coming at me yelled, “keep going, your closeand he’s suffering!” I know hemeant to be encouraging but all I could think was “thanks pal, but I’msuffering too!” Either way, I putmy head down and gave it one more hard push. It didn’t last long. Quickly my HR eclipsed 190 and myvision blurred into a small dark tunnel, I could taste my heartbeat. I knew if I wanted to finish conscious and upright Ihad to slow down, accept second place, and cruise to the finish line proud. With more than a few nervously dazed looks backto make sure I wasn’t about to be surprised at the line, I did just that,coasted in for a happy second place, only missing first by about seventyseconds.

It was a unique race for me. I am happy with many things and I certainly learned a lot too. I was happy with my decision to go outsuper aggressive and trust my ability to settle in. I am also happy I raced within my limits even in the middleof the fight. I am happy I put faith in my run and stuck to my plan, even when the legs were not at their best. Finally, I am happyI displayed some level of patience while ignoring everything other than theimmediate task. I am happy Itrusted myself, my fitness and kept mentally strong and positive the entirerace.

I learned to push myself (physically and mentally) super hard on the bike even when Iam alone on the course. I learnedit’s easy to lose focus and let up even just for a few seconds when alone. I learned that thosefew seconds are very valuable. Ilearned to always trust my abilities and bank on my strengths (running). But I also learned sometimes thosestrengths don’t come through or aren’t enough. I learned that when racing for first, maintaining secondshould not be overlooked. I learned there is something about second place that really sucks! Finally,and this one took me a while, I learned to be happy with second place, at that it's actually pretty awesome. There was a whole lot ofwoulda-coulda-shoulda’s after the race for me, but I’ve learned to accept theday as it was and to be happy. Thereality is I did my best for that day and earned a proud second place to a great cyclist andoverall athlete. I even learned tobe happy for him…well, I’m working on that one. :)

Post National Advice...Write Again

2011-08-23T09:56:00.004-04:00

I’ve got about five unfinished blog posts sitting on my desktop. They’ve been there for sometime. Each started with grand intentions without regard for it’s incomplete neighbor. Have you ever begun a new book without finishing the last? Same thing. Maybe it’s their subjects that slowly deplete my interest and motivation to finish, like a slow bleed. Forgotten attempts at unsatisfactory race reports reporting unsatisfactory race performances. It’s been a hard year to continually re-live and put down on paper all of the things that have continued to not go as planned, not feel good, and could have gone better. “Learning experience” races have gotten old.

To be fair only the majority of my incomplete blogs concern racing. A few talk about my life on the fit stool at Fleet Feet Sports; the customers I listen to, the feet I see, and the inspiration they bring literally walking through the doors everyday. Those posts are fun, insightful, thought provoking, and criminally less frequent…but they are unfinished too. Like innocent bystanders caught in a bottleneck of mediocre race reporting writers block.

I guess writing in general has been a bit unappealing this summer for that reason. Perhaps the endless pursuit of living up to high personal expectations have made chronicling the consistent shortcomings (as well as any other subjects) completely unattractive and subsequently caused me to “leave the pen cap on”.

USAT Age Group Nationals was just the kick in the literary pants I needed. No, not the just average race performance itself, or my disapproved self-criticized account of it; It’s been the conversations, emails, and texts I’ve shared in the last forty-eight hours with numerous friends and family members. All of who have encouraged me to continue to write and reflect, albeit in a more positive light, about my experiences during my races. The truth is I needed to hear it. I needed to hear from friends and athletes who I respect that I should keep using my writing as an outlet, as closure, and as a way to learn from my race experiences.

So I’m writing again. And I’m starting with my experience at USAT Age Group Nationals this past weekend in Burlington, Vermont. Yes, I’ll still be critical of myself throughout the details of the race, because that is how I learn. But this time Ill do my best to find the positives in the day. I’m not going to allow my accounts of the race blind me from finding the pure enjoyment of the weekend. Sure things can get better on the racecourse, they always can. But even though it was not my best day, it certainly was not my worst, and I truly did have a lot of fun. Indeed, I enjoy every event I take part in, I just often let my over analysis of the details and dazed tunnel vision of the race itself overshadow the simple enjoyment of participation at my fullest ability with good people all around me. Pen cap, off…

Buckhead Border Triathlon Race Report

2011-07-13T22:02:00.017-04:00

Was not as tired as I thought I would be considering getting into town late after a long day of work and drive. Felt calm and relaxed. Got signed in easily, went for a twenty minute ride on the course to warm up and fire up the legs. Ate some food, set up transition, did a quick jog, checked out the swim exit, then got on the bus to go to the swim start. Had an Espresso Hammer Gel on the way over. Overall, I felt good, relaxed and confident. The race atmosphere was low key. Wasn’t wearing a watch, except for pace on the run when I’ll throw on my Timex Global Trainer. My objective was to race the race, not the clock.

Seventy-nine degree water in The Ohio meant no wetsuit. Had a good warm up and sighted a good buoy line. It was an in-water start, I was in the first group to go. From the gun I was with the small front group and nobody was really swimming super fast. The current was pushing right to left pretty good and soon enough I was far left of the first buoy I was aiming for and not behind but just not with the group anymore. Swimming solo I pushed on feeling strong. I didn’t have the best line but the river wasn’t helping. Finally across I had to make a small backtrack to get around the turn buoy and head left downriver. From there I couldn’t tell what position I was in, just swam strong and steady to the finish. Getting out I knew it wasn’t my best swim, but I also new there were not too many people in front of me. The climb out of the river up to T1 was insane, literally the steepest zig-zag grass hill ever, I walked/crawled hand over foot to the top. The mat for T1 was at the top of the hill so the swim split includes the riverbank summit.

Pretty out of breath into T1 I jogged in control to my bike making sure to calm my HR. With a quick switch into helmet, shades, and another Espresso Hammer Gel in my pocket I was out and pedaling. Smooth.

Riding the course in the morning really helped me determine how to settle into the ride. Out of T1 there were a few sharp turns and bad road sections, so I waited to maneuver that before eating the gel and getting down to business. No one around me, I rode as hard as I could, staying around twenty-two mph. It had to get faster but my legs were a bit heavy still, I knew they would loosen. There was no wind, it wasn’t too hot, and the road was straight and rolling and only a few train track crossings to be careful of, overall pretty good conditions. It was a two-loop out and back course. The grade on the way out was just slightly uphill, but enough to notice, so I pressed on hard and wasn’t getting too worried about the less than ideal speed. As I rode out I counted the riders coming back at me to get an idea of my position. I was in about fifth or sixth for most of the ride.

Almost at the first turn I was passed out of nowhere. I wasn’t too happy about it so after dropping back, I got on it and kept him legally close. I got mad at myself because I was quickly up to twenty four twenty five mph at the same PE as before I was passed. To be clear, I was not in his slipstream, nor was I even close. I could have and should have been riding this pace from the start. In a way I was happy he passed me and got me on track. He stayed ahead until the second turn around near transition. I went past him as he took the turn way too slow, I didn’t see him again. Still feeling pretty strong I just wanted to get back to the far turn around so that I could open it up on the way home on the slight downhill. I knew my time was off by this point, but I also knew I had maintained my position in the race and was eager to run. On the way back one of the riders up in front had flatted on the train tracks and was out of the race, it sucked for him but my position just got that much better. Confidence boost.

The only mishap of the day was at the very end of the bike where there was no one telling riders where to turn onto the last road into transition. At the intersection I literally had to slow completely down, do a circle in the road and yell to spectators where to go. Finally a police officer pointed. Just as he did, the other rider zoomed past. Damn it. Again, I got on it and followed him (in a legal position, so relax) back into T2. I was upset because I worked pretty hard get that position, but there was nothing I could about it at that point. I just wanted to run.

I drank my entire bottle of Hammer Melon HEED on the bike and never took my Espresso Gel. But felt fine.

Bike racked quickly, visor on, Timex Global Trainer watch and race belt in hand as I ran out looking up the road to the guy a head. Again, pretty concise and seamless transition.

Right out of T2 a volunteer yelled, “top ten” which made me happy, although I figured I was more like top five or six. I got my watch on and race belt clipped and was running well with the guy about fifty yards ahead. We made a big loop around transition before running up to the bride over the river. Approaching the first aid station on the bridge I sucked down my last Hammer Espresso Gel and got some water in my mouth and on my head. Best decision of the day to take that gel. At this point the runner had pulled pretty far ahead and I thought, well, it’s no big deal that he passed me on the bike because he would have gotten me on the run anyway, he was clearly keeping a stiffer pace at the moment. My watch was acting up so I couldn’t get a solid read on my true pace so I just kept tempo running, focusing on good form and breathing.

As we made our way down off the bridge and back under it towards the river walk, I stalked and passed another runner while now making up good time on my target runner. I really was feeling strong and focused, my HR was where I knew it would be (172ish) so I just held it there and pushed on through. As we approached the turn around, I was now right on his heals. This was a combination of him slowing and me speeding up. We both grabbed water before the turn, and then as we made the turn next to the aid station he suddenly stopped right in front of me and started to walk. A little shocked, I ran around him and got on the gas a bit to put some daylight between us. That was weird. Front this point on, I had no idea how far ahead anyone else was but my main goal and focus was to hold him off from trying to pass me back once he began running again. I ran all the way back to the bridge without looking back. I knew he was running again now because I could hear people cheer and I passed, then again as he passed, it’s how I gauged the gap. He wasn’t too close, but he wasn’t far enough either.

At the bottom on the bridge I knew the incline would be tough for both of us, but I also knew I run hills well, I was still feeling solid, and if I could accelerate up it, it would really tighten the screws on him with only a mile to the finish off the bridge. (This is the same bridge I ran across at mile 1-2 at IMKY a few years ago; when I was not feeling so great...redemption crossed my mind) I ran up the bridge with controlled aggression and focus certainly putting myself in the pain cave for the first time of the day. As I came over the crest of the bridge, I snagged some water and opened up my legs all the way down the backside towards the last eight hundred meters of road. Again, I had heard the volunteer yelling at me for water as I approached that last bridge aid station, and as I ran past I listen for him to yell again, but never heard anything. A sharp left turn off the bridge showed that he was nowhere in sight and that I had did what I tried to do. If he had any thoughts of attempting a pass before the bridge my acceleration up and over put them to bed.

Running down the final stretch into the finish, my HR spiked a little crazy again, partially because I was pumped and partially because I was running as fast as I had been all day. I knew I ran well and had earned a solid finish, but didn’t know exactly where. As I crossed the line I only saw three guys standing at line, two of which still had their hands on their knees, I was fourth. As the runner behind me came across the line a few seconds later, I gave him a high five and thanked him for pushing me all day. He smiled and just said “I couldn’t hang with you on the run, nice job.” Right on!

Coaches Notes:

Happy to have learned to race the race, not the clock or the two-hour mark
Everyone has to race the same course, not all courses are two-hour courses
That being said, I still need to swim faster and sight better
Loved having no watch, but need to figure out my GPS so it’s ready for me in T2
I can run strong/fast with good form off the bike even when I am all-out on the bike.
At this distance, I need to swim, bike, and run at tempo HR the whole time. It’s not no pacing, its constant controlled fast pacing
I am fit enough to do that
“Controlled Aggression” Raced hard, burned matches, but all at the right time and with purpose and strategy
Spin one easier gear out of T1 to loosen legs up faster
Execution of race nutrition and pre-race warm up were major factors for success
Six day block starts today before Music City Triathlon in ten days.

Tennessee Asks, Ohio Answers

2011-06-16T20:00:00.018-04:00

I almost convinced myself the opening lyrics to this Black Keys jam were stolen directly from my dazed head as I rolled through the random and endless miles this past spring. Middle Tennessee country roads seem to leave that impression, random and endless. Stuck in my own fog at the tail end of another long, boiling ride a few months back, this particular song jumped into my earbuds and everything began to clear up, kind of. I was worked over, dazed for sure, most likely dehydrated, and certainly over aware. At least now I was. The words in my head, they made sense, they talked to me. And for no other reason, as The Keys yelled at my brain and I pedaled back down my street, I began to wonder…

It’s almost as if my move to Nashville a year ago makes more sense now that they too have done the same. After all, we stem from the same Ohio roots and share the same reasons to move. Opportunity. Just then I remembered reading the latest Scene Magazine in which they chronicled The Keys' Nashville move and asked Nashvillians, what it said about both parties. I felt like asking the same question about myself.

Is it possible? Can the lives of an unsung industrious endurance athlete and an American rust belt blues rock duo possibly parallel? Is it possible miles on the tour bus and miles in the saddle eventually get you to the same tired place? Maybe, but I'm not complaining, it was my decision, as it was theirs. The truth is, like those guys, I came here to do a job, to work. Because, where we come from, tireless hard work is a pre-requisite for daily life; it is as elemental as rubber on the road.

At home now, on my front step, sitting in the sun, I can't figure out where I put my key three and a half hours ago. My mind is still locked on these questions. Is there something about the “Rubber City” raised, hard working, that sets us apart? Is there something about that place that lured both them and I to the eerily Ohio-like southern town? But for what? Challenge? Opportunity? Probably.

I couldn't ask or answer anymore questions at this point, I was too tired and wanted to go inside. My swelled fingers fumbled around in the saddle bag until my key eventually appeared and dropped to the ground. My legs exploded with acid and were not willing to bend with out a protest, I looked down at it, "damn it." I must have just stood there and stared at it for a minute at least, before finally committing to the daunting task of bending over and picking it up. "You got what it takes?" I asked myself just before reaching down. "Ugh, that was a pain in the ass" I answered as I stood up.

Not sure what all it's going to take in the end, but I've got one thing; a work ethic as hardcore as any deep Auerbach riff or sub-thirty-six minute 10k off the bike. The Scene Magazine laid on the chair in the corner as I walked in, folded open to a certain page. A few lines were underlined in red pen.

“Nevertheless, the indefatigable Auerbach says that he and Carney are here to work, and they’ve already started. Work, after all, is something guys from Ohio know how to do.”

Jim Camp

2011-01-23T10:27:00.035-05:00

It's no secret that athletes in search of focused, uninterrupted, intense training use camps. Training camps are usually a several week block of hard work to prepare athletes for the coming season. Often times months away from meaningful competition, they demand a certain level of focus. Nonetheless they have been proven effective across many sports. Most days at camp are efficient and deliberate, every minute, workout, meal, sleep and stretch have a purpose and goal. Every measurable bit of life is put under a microscope and evaluated. Ultimately, training camps are intense, and require a certain level of seclusion, detail, and the constant drive for improvement.

Team training camps are a typical approach for a lot of sports. Think about spring training for MLB or late summer two-a-day's for high school football players. Unbreakable links of camaraderie are built among teammates during these camps. The mentality of "we are all in this together" builds a team from within as they endure the daily grind. Coaches are the camp directors, constantly pushing individuals to their limits while always holding the accountability to the team to the highest regard. Team camp's build a single, strong, cohesive unit out of a group of individual athletes.

But what if you fly solo? What if your idea of a training camp is more individual; more Rocky IV frozen Russian mountain side, and less mild spring Florida breeze? What if your goal is to build camaraderie more with the tools of your trade than teammates? What if you are your own coach and the athlete, the evaluator and student? What if you thrive on self discipline, personal accountability and solitude. What if your idea of camp is packing up your former team's car with only a few training essentials and driving many hours south to an unfamiliar place with simple intentions? To train, a lot, alone, for weeks.

Before Christmas I received a phone call from a local athlete I loosely knew and was a client of back home. We spoke in the past on occasion but it was always to a specific point and cycling based. We talked facts, numbers and evaluation and nothing more. Outside of the technical bike world, I did not know him well at all, but I knew of him enough to know the essentials. He was smart, quiet, unassuming, and a very elite athlete. His accolades, from what I understood, were on the national level and his craft was second to none when it came to the relationship between anatomical fit and mechanical function. Naturally, without really knowing him as a person or friend, but knowing what I did, I looked up to him, admired him, and was maybe even a little intimidated by his quiet allure. So an out of the blue phone call was definitely intriguing.

The initial call went something like this: "Hey, I am looking for a place to stay for a few weeks this winter to get out of the snow so I can train on my bike...and from the little time we have spent around each other, I think we seem to get along okay...I know you live in Nashville now, so I was wondering..."He went on, in an awkwardly confident sort of way, "Just to let you know, I am very clean, I am quiet and I love to cook, in fact, if I do say so myself, I am pretty good at it."

After a few more mutually nervous phone calls over the next few weeks we had covered all the details of his trip and settled on a day for his arrival. If nothing else he wanted to be well prepared, never caught off guard and fully comfortable with the whole situation. The first few phone calls were thorough; we covered all the bases. His inquiries were broad; the safety of my town, the elevation gain/loss of a typical local ride, would I mind if he decided to stay longer than a few weeks, the availability/quality of local coffee roasters and grocery stores, local group ride paces, extra bedding, and how long I let my French press steep. Detailed and comprehensive...to say the least. But to be honest it was appreciated and by the time he rolled into town in early January, even though it was all still a bit unknown, I felt like we knew his style and he knew ours.

Having obviously done the house guest thing before, he was a pro. Within the first twenty-four hours he made his presence comfortably felt, especially in the kitchen. He stocked the cupboards and fridge full with all of his carefully selected stock of everything natural, homemade, organic, grass-fed, caffeinated, and sometimes mysterious. His room and bathroom were set up simply; air mattress, pillow, bag of cloths, small tube of fruit extract body wash and a laptop. On top of his dresser sat a collection of electronic self monitoring tools like bike GPS, HRM and an iPod. Another bag sat in the corner filled with energy gels, powders and self massage tools and oils. The closet hung nothing but coordinated team cycling jerseys and a bath towel. His bike stashed in the corner next to ours. It, unlike himself and all his belongings, was not unassuming. It was simply bad ass. Speced with just about everything a cyclist could dream of, it was classic, sexy and clean. But when you asked him, it was something else. Something much simpler. It was his tool.

Over the next few weeks our guest settled into a very solid training and life routine. He worked just as hard as we did during business hours then would relax at home with us in the evenings. It was comfortable. We cooked, drank and ate while discussing the intricacies of each. Most conversations having to do with food, beer, music, and cooking took place at a pretty high level. Sometimes above my head. His knowledge of food and what it does to/in the body, and how it reacts to certain training loads was deep and surpassed the basics. To compliment that, his techniques in the kitchen were as exceptional as his ingredient range. Every night we hung out in the kitchen while cooking, aimlessly discussing life; things like the importance of phytonutrients for athletes, The Black Keyes newest album, the historical and fermentation process differences between a Doppelbock and a Belgium Strong Ale, iron and what it means to female athletes during their cycle, and the assertiveness and uniqueness of umami; I was often tempted to take notes.

Sharing the daily breakfast and dinner duties, we almost rivaled each other in the kitchen. Pulling out all the stops to offer up the best meals possible. The end results were fantastic meals and a kitchen tapping for mercy. Most dishes ended up getting rated on a "how much would I pay for this at a restaurant" scale. After a taste of anything he would calmly and specifically profile each flavor note from initial reaction to lasting impression on the tongue; with the same look on his face as a professor would have while analyzing a thesis. How could you disagree? His complex pallet and culinary expertise were rivaled only by his ability to pedal up hill (he hates cycling analogies).

Naturally, because of my intrigue, many discussions would turn toward cycling. Whether it was actually about cycling, or the bike, or maintenance, gear, or fit, it was easy to get on the topic. But he wasn't as eager to talk then. He would often times, in a clear effort, dispel the thought and move on to something else. It didn't take long for me to realize he didn't like talking about his job.

Eventually I came to appreciate and more fully understand his quiet perspective on cycling. His entire professional life had been surrounded by the sport. But he was a person way beyond just that, unfortunately, and for some reason, it was difficult for people in his life to see past his handlebars. The tools he used to do his job were not particularly interesting to him, but others could obsess about them for hours. His workouts were not riveting conversation pieces, but people pick his brain about training constantly. And cycling on a whole, although he loved it, was not something he cared to chronicle on a daily basis, but others wanted to hear him do so. It was clear to me that he had been striving for some time now, to be known as someone other than what he was best known for. He wanted respect for being more than a wrench and a bike racer and hated being classified as either.

It made perfect sense, over the last couple of days I had learned so much about him as a person. He was a great cook and was incredibly insightful. He had passions for other things like coffee and cars and pro football. So, to live with the label of "bike racer" had to be really annoying. Although it was a large part of this life, he didn't allow it to consume his life, so why should everybody else? Is that what national championship burdens you with for the rest of your life? His strong feelings about this situation made me realize it was something he struggled with for a while. I respected this about him, and in a way, I sympathized for him. From then on, rarely did I bring up, or did we discuss cycling. I was fine with it, because there was so much more.

But I guess there were the exceptions. A certain few times something he would read, or someone he would talk to would spark his inner velo-enthusiasm and he would have something to say about it. Most times though, I just sat and listened. I just tried to soak it in as a learning opportunity and just let him talk. Because he didn't say much, when he did, it was strong, meaningful and usually complicated. A few conversations that stand out dealt with things like; evaluating work loads as they compare to elevation changes on his coaching software, a particular saddle adjustability or lack there of, the morning he fit Stacey on her road bike, his and other bike fit philosophies in general, and the true differences between professional and amateur bike racers. I tried to hold on to his conversations the same way I did his wheel when we rode. Sometimes I fell off (he really hates cycling analogies).

All the while, our guest maintained his main focus. His training routine was specific and tough. Everything he did, whether it was foam roll, self massage, lift weights or ride his bike, was serious work. I rode with him several times. It was demanding for sure, but more than that, it was with intent and consistent. He rode purposefully with little emotion. Faced straight forward with little upper body movement, he sat for hours and pedaled, hard. The routes he mapped were killer, scaling some of the area's most notorious climbs several times within one ride. He found his favorite route on the web, it was aptly named "Hillz Killz" a twenty or so mile loop with over a thousand feet of climbing. He determined a particular ride's quality by how many "Killz" loops it incorporated.

Riding with him was never easy, but is wasn't flat out either. Typically it was only up the longest or steepest climbs that he would lose me, then it was my job to "put some pressure on the pedals" and get back on. That was his only advice; "stick to my wheel, and stay there, if you fall off, put some pressure on the pedals and get back on". If I could, great, if not, "sorry, see you at home". Unfortunately for me, his ability to climb and descend made my job pretty damn hard. Sometimes I recovered, sometimes I didn't. His unwillingness to slow down or wait was stern, but I didn't mind at all. After all, he wasn't here to ride with me, or anyone for that matter. I wanted him to do his thing; I was merely a shadow. I really liked riding with him, and did as much as I could. The demand was always there; I could feel it; my legs we taking a thrashing.

Rest days were fun days too. These days always started with big, hearty breakfasts, lots of great coffee and usually a spontaneous lesson about something he just read from the latest Cook Illustrated magazine. He was not afraid to lounge hard these days either. He would do nothing if that is what his body needed. The most he would ever do on a rest day was maybe a self massage or foam roller/yoga session on the living room floor while explaining the relationships between adjacent muscle groups. Then a walk and back to the coffee shop. Rest day nights were about prep for the next big load. He spent considerable time reviewing possible routes online and analyzing his previous workloads on his coaching software. He also did laundry, stretched, hydrated a ton and of course prepped his food stock. Only once did I see him tune and wash his bike. He rarely even looked at it when it was in the house.

By the end of his trip we were sad to see him leave. That morning, he packed up his tools within minutes, had a final press of coffee and was on his way. He thanked us for the hospitality. I thanked him back. Out the door, he headed further south for the next stage of his solo camp that I came to respect and admire so much.

After he left, as I reflected on the entire experience, I hoped that it was a successful time for him and that he got in the work he wanted. My legs reminded me of the work I did while he was here and I am thankful for it. At the end of the day, our guest came to our home as an acquaintance and an athlete in search of secluded quality training. He left us as a teacher, a friend, and more importantly a person unattached to a bike. No longer is he an illusive name tossed around the local cycling scene or an intimidating presence of fit, but a friend, a well rounded, funny, insightful, opinionated, educated, confident and unique friend. He taught us perspective and what it means to be driven, and he taught us about training far beyond the pedal strokes. But mostly, he taught us about himself, the non-cyclist. After two plus weeks of hosting one of the most unique people I have ever met, I thought about what his camp meant to me. The truth was, I had just gotten back from my own camp. Jim Camp.

Camp Mess Hall Highlights:

Crusted venison tender loin with roasted parsnip puree and lemon garlic green beans
Olive oil toasted steal cut oats with homemade yogurt, raisins, and cold milled flax seeds (a daily occurrence)
Pan seared salmon and brown rice bowl with collards, spinach and leaks
Caramelized halved brussel sprouts with bacon and leeks
many varieties of homemade hummus (several batches) spinach, garlic, and red pepper

Top 10 of 2010. The Images. The Daze.

2010-12-21T21:30:00.063-05:00

Like any good year 2010 was chalk full of the essentials; good memories, solid results and great pictures to capture it all. These are a few of my favorite shots from the year that was.

December 31, 2009

New Year's Eve at the Kurilko's (friend and teammate). Christian is

registering for The Mountaineer Half after a few beers. His concentration and liquid courage sure helped him click the submit button. A great night and perfect way to break in the

2010 campaign.

January 17, 2010

A few weeks later we set the season off in style with The Buckeye Trail 50k. Coach Scot and Corey let me take their lead as we approached the finish to a very demanding day. One of my favorite shots of the year is fitting for one of the toughest events of the year.

March 7, 2010

I took a short break from multisport training in March to revisit my original love; skiing! This shot was taken at a local skier cross competition at my home hill Brandywine. We were coming off the first big right-hand bank, I was in the lead in the green jersey! I placed in the first few heats and made it through the semi-finals but missed the podium on the day. Skiing will always be my first love and where I learned to compete, succeed, and face opposition.

April 18, 2010

In an effort to expand my horizons and build some early season bike strength I hopped on my road bike and started pounding the miles. As a result my cycling improved big time and I began to feel more comfortable on my road bike. This shot is from a very small, local, spring training, bike race series I participated in. The shot is really nothing special, but more importantly it made the list as proof. Not only did I race my bike in a non-multisport event but I stayed upright, won a preem, and actually liked it...a lot. Probably more to come in '11.

June 20, 2010

Maumee Bay Olympic Triathlon. This shot was taken less than a minute before the gun went off. How do I know that? You can spot me (bottom left) kneeling down saying a few words to the Man upstairs. I do this every race just seconds before the start. Along with a few deep breaths, it helps to calm my HR and puts me at ease. I love how this picture captured that moment.

July 31, 2010

We sat around for two hours before my wave went off at Steelhead 70.3 this year. For me it wasn't all that bad. I was just a bit anxious. Hat's off to Pops for not only sticking out the wait with me, but watching me race all day. This shot was taken after we had already been hanging around a while, sufficiently drenched, cold and pretty tired. Dad is my ultimate super fan!

September 12, 2010

Relax! That's exactly what we did after Rev 3 Half back at the Kaiser Motorhome at Cedar Point. It was perfect. We raced hard all day then came back to these awesome accommodations complete with food, beer, and great hospitality. You can tell in this shot that Jody, Corey and Aaron were taking life easy after jobs well done.

October 2, 2010

By October, the race season was wrapping up, but Ironman was looming. Having Lived in Nashville for a few months at this point my training was focused and unhindered by the Cleveland fall weather. However, I was super excited to take a short weekend break from training and fly back north to be in one of my best friend's wedding. This is Stacey and I at Jeremy and Sarah's wedding. It's also my favorite picture of her and I in 2010.

November 6, 2010

Needless to say tons of pictures were taken the week of Ironman and most of them were awesome and probably deserving of this list. From action shots to post-race celebration, the lenses captured most of the week's events. But none compare to this gem. Just after we had walked down to the beach the five of us took our last group shot before the gun. We were cold, scared and nervous. But then again, I probably don't need to explain that we were scared or nervous...just look at our faces. Five best training friends, right before the big day, totally prepared and nervous as hell. The perfect racing daze.

December 11, 2010

I topped off 2010 with the Huntsville Marathon with one of my best Nashville friends Drew. Read more about my time at Huntsville here. This is my favorite shot of the day. Drew and I all smiles at the finish line ready for some hard core R&R! It was the perfect way to top off the race season and year! I couldn't be happier with the day or this picture! Lovin the Fleet Feet Mylar too!

2010 was a total success in my book and I can not wait to see what the new year will bring. What ever it is, one thing is for sure. The racing daze will be out there and I am sure to find it. Happy 2011 peeps!

Recovered, Lost, and Found. A Rocket City Celebration

2010-12-10T12:48:00.017-05:00

It's been five weeks since the Ironman finish line. For most of that time I let the workouts take a back seat to living real life. The first few weeks were nothing but that good old R&R. I slept a lot, ate more and did all the things I don't normally do fifty some weeks of the year. It was a well deserved and nice break. But soon enough I had the itch to move again. My body was feeling more and more normal each day. This was a good thing because I was to toe the line to the Rocket City Marathon down in Huntsville, Alabama in just a few short weeks. A decision I made a few months before Ironman.

Slowly, I eased back into running and swimming mainly trying to loosen up and get a feel back. The first few workouts were awkward and stiff...what I expected. With time they got better and I found a groove. Some days were worse than others, but ultimately things got better.

For the most part my running was very easy paced and short. I was technically training for the marathon but wasn't really gaining any fitness. In fact, what I learned was that I wasn't training for anything at all. All my short runs, easy swims and recovery spins were just that. Recovery. For the first time in my life, I was "training" for an event by coming down instead of building up. A new approach for sure. But it made sense. There was no way I would gain any real fitness between the Ironman finish line and Huntsville's start, and if I did, it was minimal. My best case scenario was to minimize the damage done in Florida and start the 26.2 as close to pre-Ironman freshness as possible. As the marathon got close, I felt my recovery coming along, I was on track. That's not to say I didn't do a few longer runs and short track sessions but once again, the intentions of those weren't to sharpen the knife but to buff off the rust.

As I sit now, less than a day from the marathon I find myself anxious for the racing daze. I am curious to find out what's left in my legs and how much of a fight they will put up to the inevitable pain. (it's still a marathon) But again, tomorrow's test is different. Most races I want to know the levels of my fitness, tomorrow I will ask my body how well rested it is. Unfortunately, I don't think it will let me know until somewhere between miles twenty-one and twenty-six.

The other unique aspects to tomorrow's run are my strategy, mental approach and expectations. As for strategy, I don't really have one (other than to stay patient and not push), and my mentality is more about enjoyment and less about focus. My goal tomorrow is not a time or a qualification. It is simply to have fun and enjoy the day with some good friends. My expectations have less do to with paces and splits and more with happiness and celebration. I plan to hold back if/when it starts to really hurt (it's still a marathon) and pace myself comfortably the entire run, never pushing the limits...a very atypical race approach for me. It might be tough at times, but I will resist because it's not the purpose of the day nor am I fit enough for the test.

For me, 2010 was a successful race year with several major accomplishments and milestones. I ran my first winter trail 50k in January, earned a spring half marathon PR, I PR'ed in all three distances of triathlon I raced (Olympic, 70.3, Ironman) and won my AG in one of my biggest triathlons of the season, while also making significant bike and swim fitness gains throughout the season.

I intend on reflecting on all of this during my run tomorrow. I will give thanks for my health and celebrate my hard work and discipline. I will think about the sacrifices I made to accomplish these goals and what the accomplishments themselves mean to me. I will think about next season too. What are my new goals and what sacrifices and I willing to make to reach them? It's pretty easy to be dead honest with yourself two and a half hours into a run.

I'm going to think about the low points I went through this season too; and give thanks for the ability to persevere. I will think about how I overcame adversity this season and learned to stick up for myself, be proud of who I am, and be accountable for my actions. I will give thanks for the friendships this sport has afforded me. I will reflect on the people in my life that help me reach my goals and support my racing daze. I will thank every single volunteer I see and cheer on other runners. I will run with my head up for a change; out of "the zone". I will pray as I run tomorrow. This marathon, when it comes down to it, is less of a race for me, and more of a time to celebrate, give thanks, and reflect. A time to consider how fortunate I really am. A victory lap.

November 6, 2010 Ironman Florida Race Report

2010-11-17T23:16:00.027-05:00

It’s obvious that my season had been leading up to this race. Arriving in Panama City on Wednesday I felt relaxed. I was well prepared and quietly confident. The numbers had been spinning in my head for two weeks prior but now that I was in Florida, I was calm. I was able to ride that feeling all the way through the week. My teammates and family definitely helped the situation. The edge was off.

Saturday morning my relative race week Zen had all but evaporated. I was really nervous beyond what I knew to be typical. It was early and I was cold, really cold. Standing barefoot on the sand, my feet were already numb; I stared into the ocean without much thought. The sun was not up yet and the ocean was black. I had not eaten a ton all morning and didn’t even take a Hammer Gel thirty minutes out. Everyone was around and everyone was nervous, including spectators. I don’t remember much conversation. Fifteen minutes until the gun. By now, it wasn’t just my feet that were numb.

We kissed away our families and walked over to put our toes in the warm water. I stood with Corey on the beach after losing sight of Jody, Brian, and Aaron. It was good to be with a teammate before the start. We made our way towards the front of the twenty-eight-hundred athletes, I liked our position. We stood silent for a few minutes then they played the national anthem; I peed in my wetsuit one last time. A quick hug. Ten seconds. More silence. Gun.

I wanted to keep my HR low as I navigated through the masses in search of clean water. “Maybe I could have been a bit further up,” I remember thinking. To accomplish this I had to swim with my head above the water in a very elementary way to maneuver through the mess. It seemed to work. Soon enough was I was able to find some space, get on some feet, sight a clear line to the buoys, and settle into a nice rhythm. The small rollers were choppy and consistent and the current was pulling us to the left as we went out. At the first buoy I was about fifty yards inside and had to straighten my line. I quickly learned I would need to compensate for the current and play the angles. Not a big deal. The first left hand turn was a bit congested and I tried to get in and out as quick as possible. As I made the turn the sun was there, glaring. Basically blinded, I swam by feel and short view about three hundred yards to the next left hand buoy. Again a bottleneck, I made the turn and headed for shore. My pace at that point felt right and everything was under control. Other than a bit of fog that had accumulated in my goggles, probably due to the extreme variance in water and air temperatures, the cruise back to the beach was uneventful.

The tide was out and the shallow water was long all the way up to the sand. As I slowly jogged through the shin deep breakwater towards the turn around on the beach, I glanced at my watch. It read somewhere around twenty-nine minutes. I was happy, maybe even a little surprised. My strategy was not to negative split the swim but keep the pace relatively consistent on both laps. I liked the time I saw. After clearing my mouth with some fresh water at the beach water station I calmly jogged back into water for another go in The Gulf. Lap one of two: 30:24

The water was much more open this time and I couldn’t help but turn on the jets just a bit as I approached the first buoy. The turn buoys were less crowded and the sun was just high enough to spare me the glare. All said, the second lap seemed to go by even faster. I felt good; with only a little shoulder burn the last few hundred yards. At one point I even remember feeling A bit warm in my Profile Design Marlin wetsuit. I should have savored the moment, as warmth would be an elusive commodity the rest of the day. One more jog through the shallows and back up beach before the swim was a thing of the past. Lap two of two: 32:23. Wetsuit stripped, through the freshwater showers and into T1. Swim: 1:02:47 (1:40/100m)

It felt like a rat maze on the way through transition. We ran up and down several fenced walkways towards the gear bags before eventually making it to the changing rooms. That was annoying. I took a quick seat and methodically went though the process that I had practiced: shoes, helmet, race number belt, arm warmers, sunglasses banana. It was too easy to waste time in Ironman transitions, I know firsthand; this one seemed fine. I did forget one step though, towel off. I ran out of the changing room ready to ride, but still soaking wet. After yet another endless jog past the porta-potties and down the bike lanes, I was handed my rig just as I swallowed what remained of my banana. Too long but relatively seamless: T1: 6:41

On the bike and I immediately felt cold. Literally dripping wet with only partially dry arm warmers, I began the ride. The road out of town was bumpy and windy. Within ten minutes I was seriously cold and my mood was depleting. I glanced at my watch for the real time of day; it was just after 8:00am. Pre-race temps were in the mid-thirty’s so it could not have been much more than thirty-seven at that point. The sun was rising slowly and still behind the tall trees that lined the highway. I was critically frozen with no way to warm up in sight.

As more time went by I was getting passed left and right but there wasn’t much I could do, nor did I care. Performance, to be completely honest, was no concern of mine at that point. Ninety minutes into the most important race of my season, performance and game plan were not even on my radar because of the oppressive conditions I was dealing with. This is an unbelievable fact for me to reflect on. Straight up, I was too cold to care.

Back to reality, every part of my body was stiff and numb or in extreme pain and getting worse. My legs weren’t firing with any power and my arms were frozen stiff. My fingers were dead dark blue. I could not bend my wrists, shift gears, grasp anything, or squeeze a water bottle, I was flat out miserable and had four plus hours ahead of me. Without regret or shame I can honestly say I considered quitting several times within the first hour of the ride. The extreme cold had transformed into down right undeniable pain and I was losing hope. My lean, one hundred fifty some pound frame was unable to regain any warmth and was taking it on the chin. All I wanted to do was stop.

I really wanted to stop. I wanted the pain to stop and I wanted the cold to stop. I am not sure why I never actually stopped but the temptation was real. After riding way too slow for way too long and being passed by so many people I knew all I could do was continue to pedal. I was too numb to be mad or to process angry thoughts. Frozen in position, I just kept moving forward.

Corey rode up on me at one point, it was so good to see him. He was freezing too and just hearing that made me feel a little better; I wasn’t the only.

The rest of the day on the bike just sort of went on by in a monotonous blur. Over time I slowly thawed and was able to settle into a grove down in the bars with a renewed focus. But the damage had been done, I was way behind. I can’t say I ever truly warmed up, but the misery eventually faded. We fought wind gusts all day long and depending on the turn of the road we dealt with it more or less. I stayed on top of my calories and consumed every bit of my plan. Having been so cold in the morning I knew my body had burnt more calories than planned, so I made an effort to stay on the high end of my consumption ranges for the rest of the ride. Two 24 oz. bottles with six scoops of Hammer Perpetuem in each one did the trick.

The course was different from 2007 and included more inclines and out and back sections. Nothing significant but it is not pancake flat as it’s often advertised.

Special needs came at mile fifty-six. Still having little dexterity in my fingers I had the volunteer unwrap my Fig Newton’s and put them in my mouth after he handed me my fresh fuel bottles. Off I went in under a minute.

Hydration was a big focus of mine on the bike. Throughout training I have learned my sweet rate may be a bit elevated and that the more electrolyte fortified liquid I take in, the better I feel, plain and simple. I was drinking a lot of Hammer HEED. This also means I had to pee a lot. I stopped to pee once. Realizing the incredible waste of time it was I took a new approach. It’s not pretty, comfortable or easy but it’s fast. My new method was a time saver, however my cycling shoes never seemed to dry all day long…that’s all I’ll say about that.

I had a sense of urgency the last twenty or so miles. The wind was calm and I wanted to make up for lost time. I remember passing mile marker ninety and feeling good, so I recommitted. I rode as hard and controlled as I could on my way back to town. But I never fought the wind when it came, I stayed patient knowing it would be at my back soon enough. Several times throughout the final stretch large groups of riders would come up from behind and zoom past effortlessly. I learned about patience and fairness on the bike this season, it was easy for me to let them ride up the road without me. They did their thing, I did mine.

Coming back down the main strip into transition I was not slowing. I was behind schedule and not going to lay off the gas until the dismount line. Some athletes were slowing down as they approach the final mile; I stayed on a stiff pace until the last minute. Olympic pace at mile one hundred eleven probably isn’t textbook Ironman bike strategy but I wanted to get off my bike and run. Out of shoes, ass off saddle, and back in transition. Bike: 5:34:46 (20.1mph)

My first few steps were ridged. My quads were stiff as hell as I shuffled back through the maze of transition fencing. I was handed my gear bag and made it back to the changing rooms. Already my legs were feeling looser, an encouraging sign. Another quick sit, my actions were deliberate. Swiftwick Socks, shoes, visor, and Fuel Belt. Out of the changing room, past a few more transition obstacles and onto the run course. T2: 4:50

I was running. It’s always good to be running at Ironman. A large part of my pre-race focus and preparation was to run a successful marathon. This meant little to no walking. To do this I would have to be patient and resist the urge to go out too quickly. I would also have to fuel correctly with my Espresso Hammer Gel, Endurolytes and water at aid stations. I had Hammer Fizz in both 10 oz. bottles of my Fuel Belt also. I drank the entire first one during mile one. It tasted great. As a back up I had flat Coke at special needs but I wanted to hold off on that as long as possible.

Mile one split, 8:08. Way too fast. 8:30 would have been a little steep but acceptable, 8:08 was down right unacceptable. Time to slow down. The next few miles were consistently slower. So much so that I became a bit concerned. My effort seemed to be increasing while my pace was decreasing. Luckily, this only lasted the first few miles before I was able to stretch out and settle into an appropriate pace and effort.

The course is two out and backs with a loop in the park at the far end. I just wanted to get out to the park at this point. I ran steady and sipped on my flask. Everything was under control. As I continued to drink a lot I allowed myself to stop every other mile to use the porta-potty. These would be the only times I would break stride all marathon.

I made it to the park, ran the loop and headed back towards transition. There weren’t many supporters out that far, it was nice and quiet and I liked it. With my arm warmers now pulled down to my wrists I was moving steady. Around mile eight after taking a shot of gel my flask slipped from my hand. It fell onto the road two steps behind me, I took once glance back at it, decided backwards was a direction I didn’t want to go, and kept on running. Not the best decision I have ever made, but at the time, reverse was not an option.

By the time I made it to the turn around at thirteen I was in an unyielding trance. I saw my family cheering but I heard nothing except my own breathing. I didn’t feel much either; I was in a daze and probably a bit fragile but continued forward progress. I needed that damn gel flask. Plan B. Aid stations. Coke, grapes and oranges were my new nutrition strategy. At the time I fully accepted sugar and caffeine but I knew I would have to stay on it until the finish. A sugar high is good thing, until it runs out. Half Marathon: 2:04:41

It was a little deflating feeling leaving town for a second time, I remembered that feeling from 2007. But at this point, completely buzzed on Coke I kept my head up and left town with a smile. I had one goal; get back to the park.

I wish I remembered more about the run back to the park, but I don’t. I just remember getting to the loop and feeling good. It was still quiet back there, the sun was on its way back down and the air was cooling off. I had one more task at hand before my third Ironman finish. As I passed mile marker twenty, one thought passed through my sugar-stoned head, “run home.” A quick mental inventory of what was left in the tank confirmed my intentions. I would run back as fast as I could. I ditched my empty Fuel Belt bottles and arm warmers at the aid station and took off for twenty-one. Nothing mattered anymore except running, just plain old, hard running. My adrenaline was spiked and my pace was unsustainable. I knew I had to slow down a little but the idea was right. Give it everything I had until the finish. And that is what I did.

As I left the park and made it back onto the crowded streets my daze was thick. Life was a fiery blur inside my head that kept pushing me to run harder. I don’t recall much on the way back into town except the totally alive and numbing feeling of realizing how close I was to the finish.

With around two miles to the finish I remember trying to do math in my head while looking at my watch. I had an extremely thin chance of crossing before the clock ticked eleven hours. It would be close but my ability to calculate time was so impaired I couldn’t figure out how close it would actually be. It was a waste of time and energy to try and figure it out. I conceded with myself to just run. In that moment it was all I could do, just run with a brain turned off. The rest would work itself out.

With other runners and spectators all around me I was alone in my head. No dance party aid stations or drunken college kids cheering could crack my blank stare. I wasn’t interested in any of it, only running. Eventually I made the last left hand turn past Alvin’s Island and could feel the music and lights of the finish line. The adrenaline overdose of the last mile of an Ironman is nothing I can describe with accuracy. But I think that is one aspect of this race that makes it so exceptional. It is as indescribable as it is long. You will literally never know unless you’re there. There is little value in the story.

I entered the finishing chute and crossed the line completely alive and buzzing. “Welcome home” was my only thought. Marathon: 4:13:07 (9:40/mile)

I was escorted by a volunteer through the finishers process; Mylar blanket on, timing chip off, medal around neck, hat and tee-shirt in hand, and finisher photo snapped. Ironman: 11:02:09 (PR)

By now the numbing high I had been riding for the past two hours had escaped my body and was replaced by a very authentic pain from the destruction of the day. But even that pain was dwarfed with the embrace of my teammates and family. “Those things don’t get any easier,” I said to my Dad as we hugged.

I am nothing but happy with my third Ironman experience and am proud to have shared it with my teammates and family. I gave it everything I had, I did not quit, and I earned my best time to date. I will leave it at that.

Ironman Florida Approach

2010-11-15T18:56:00.002-05:00

Before I wrote my Ironman race report I thought it would interesting to re-visit my pre-race strategy. I put it together with my coach the week before the race. However, is was truly developed and fine tuned all season long as I trained and raced. We collected data from many aspects of my training (nutrition, heart rate, pace, sweat rate, mood, processes etc.) and analyzed it all over time. This is what we came up with. It is actually quite simple, but specific and sequential.

Reviewing it now is a good way for me to reflect on what went according to plan and what did not. A plan or strategy is required to have success in triathlon (esp. Ironman). But they are meaningless without proper execution. The following was my 2010 Ironman Florida race strategy.

PRE:

Breakfast early, stay off feet, go back up to hotel room after check in

HEED to sip on

Chill out do nothing in AM, and munch on something

SWIM:

3x:30 race pace warm up @ race pace

Spend some energy to get in good position right at start

2^nd lap, cruise be relaxed

No need to negative split, stay consistent

Keep HR down between laps

T1:

Have a plan and be methodical

Be organized

Have a banana on the way out

BIKE:

810 cal = 6 scoops Perpetuem (down tube)

420 cal = 2 scoops HEED (saddle)

32oz Fizz water/ hr (aero) half empty at every aid station - refill

Endurolytes

Fizz in bento box

DRINK!

SPECIAL NEEDS:

Replace Perpetuem and HEED bottles - same solutions

Real food – Fig Newton’s ~200 cal.

Make it quick. In and out

T2:

Have a plan and be methodical

Quick stretch- quads, calves

Espresso gel and Endurolytes

RUN:

8:30 pace first 13, or slower if that feel’s too fast

Take it out slow and in controlled

DRINK!

Avoid walking at all costs

Last 5 miles are personal, overcome the expected pain

SPECIAL NEEDS:

Flat coke

Real Food

Endurolytes

Make it real quick if needed at all

Use aid stations for water

NOTES:

THURS/FRI – eat healthy but increase cal. slightly, increase sodium a bit

Possible sabotage – go out too hard early on bike…be in control

First hour be antsy…want to go faster…20-22mph is the goal; Endurance pace/HR

Feel good at special needs is the goal, then again at mile 90

Ask myself “can I cover an attack?” if not…I'm going to hard

If I feel I could have gone harder on the ride, fine…prove it in the marathon

Be in a position off the bike to take advantage of my good run shape

22-26 make it personal. It will hurt like hell. Over ride the pain. Welcome it. Expect it. Recognize it. I am mentally prepared for it.

601 Boyd Mill. Franklin Training.

2010-11-11T23:44:00.000-05:00

For the six months leading up to this race I was secluded. I had moved down to Franklin, Tennessee and was living alone while working at the Fleet Feet about twenty minutes north in Brentwood near Nashville. Everyday I worked and I trained in a very focused, individual way. My simplistic apartment was bare but had everything I needed. So did the little town of Franklin. I was less than a mile from a coffee shop, an ice cream parlor and a southern BBQ drive through and only eight miles from challenging, quite and endless cycling and running routes. The location and the apartment were ideal.

Centered on the hardwood living room floor was a yoga mat, on top of which sat my bike trainer. Next to it was a small fan, a plastic stool, several half empty water bottles, my iPod, and a towel that needed washing, otherwise the room was empty. My bikes leaned against the hallway walls when they weren’t being used or worked on. Lined up next to the front door laid no less than ten pairs of shoes of different style; running, cycling, trail, triathlon, casual and flip flop, but mostly running. A plastic milk crate also sat on the floor next to the front door. It was filled with all the training essentials. I dug into it daily for any number tools including my helmet, sunglasses, HRM, Bodyglide, gloves, arm warmers, orthotics, tube change kit, electrolyte pills, multi-tool etc. My swim bag lay damp next to it.

Most of the time the kitchen was better stocked with Hammer Nutrition fuels and supplements than actual food. The counters were bare; never hosting more than a French Press, a blender and dozens of water bottles and coffee mugs waiting to be used or cleaned. Coffee, Perpetuem, protein smoothie was the liquid diet sequence most days. I drank most of my calories, it was easier and quicker that way. Eating was a chore. It was expensive, constant and sad. I did everything by myself, but I hated eating alone.

I had one cup, one bowl and a box of plastic utensils that I washed from time to time. The fridge and cupboard were either stocked or empty, but usually empty. The three 32 oz. Nalgene’s were always there however, constantly being emptied and refilled with cold water. It was hot this summer.

My bedroom was nothing more than a mattress and lamp on the floor in the corner, a small dorm-like couch in front of a borrowed twelve-inch TV with only four channels. Two triathlon posters were tacked to the wall, one simply read “Serious Triathlon” I read it, and lived it, every day. My closet had a better selection of cycling jerseys and tech tee’s than it did jeans and polo’s. The room didn’t always smell fresh due to the endless supply of sweaty clothes than lined the baseboards combined with the leftover scents of muscle creams, aloes and chamois butters, but when I had enough energy I would open the heavy window, it seemed to helped. Life was simple, focused and selfish. Lonely at times, but I liked it; it was the perfect Ironman training home.

Race week came and the apartment was packed. It didn’t take me long to load my car with a few duffle bags filled with the contents of the apartment, and throw my bike up on the roof rack. Stacey had flown into town the night before. It was time to head south for Panama City, Florida. I was excited, but I knew that when I came back things would be different. I would move out of my apartment and in with a friend in a real house, with real furniture, and real food. Leaving for Ironman meant leaving seclusion. Ironman is a long and lonely race. I felt well prepared.

Calling YOU Out!

2010-09-19T19:19:00.000-04:00

I am sick and tired of all you self-righteous triathletes cowardly calling me out after my success at Rev3. You talk about how drafting pisses you off, and how you work hard to earn your own results, like you are so unique. How admirable? What, do you think the rest of us don’t? Come on, you see things the way you see them then you get on your soapbox and call people out publically on blogs and forums. It’s bullshit and I am sick of it. You say I have no pride in my sport, you say I am a habitual cheater! You tell me to find a new sport and call to have me ousted. Well here I am!

My name is Frank DeJulius, male, 25-29, BAFF. AND PROUD OF IT! I’ve read the all blogs and CTC forums and I know what is being said about me. I did not draft, I do not cheat and I never worked with other people to earn my result on Sunday, or any other race this season. Just like all of you, I race fair. I don’t care what you think you saw in the four-second snap shot when you rode past me. I don’t care what your friends told you they saw either. I rode clean and I have nothing to hide, I am content with my race. In every situation, I do what needs to be done so that I do not draft.

Hear are some facts. I did not get a drafting penalty, others around me did. I rode 100% legally and I have no regrets expect maybe thinking some of you were friends. I ran hard because I trained hard, not because I cheated as you say. Sunday was not even a PR! In fact I was quite displeased with my bike split on Sunday, for God sake if I drafted and still only managed 21.6 MPH, then I really suck! It was a tough windy day out there and I suffered through it just like all of you blow hard’s. The fact that I rode near a teammate for much of the race means absolutely nothing, and for you to condemn me for that shows your ignorance and desire to bring me down, and I don’t know why.

I have been training my ass off the past two years and my results are starting to show it. And for any of you who sit there and try to take that away from me, SCREW YOU! You take away my daily hard work, my hours of training, my personal sacrifices and pride, commitment and respect for this sport, SCREW YOU! You question what triathlon means to me and you suggest I find a new sport, SCREW YOU! Triathlon doesn’t need you as far as I am concerned. You know who you are.

It’s almost like your jealous or upset I am getting faster. Typical haters. One of you cowards even told me to my face that on Sunday I beat someone who is clearly a better athlete than I will ever be, so I must have cheated! What! Deal with the facts, I am getting fitter and faster and I am beating people who used to beat me, fairly. If you want to try and take that away from me, then you are a jealous coward and I feel sorry for you.

I had to get this off my chest after talking with a few of you. You high horse cowards make me sick and I had to let you know. I don’t wake up at 5:30 every morning, and train my ass of to be falsely called out after one of the better races of my life. It't not my fault you did not have a good race. I raced fair and I don’t give a shit about what you think you saw or heard from other people. I don’t own anything to anyone and I don’t need to prove anything to any of you. Facts are facts. I received no penalties, I raced fair and I finished a head of many of you. I race for myself and once again I have never been a cheater. Like all of you high horse bloggers, I make the right decisions when put in a bad situation on the bike and I take it personally. I do not cheat. I got caught for the first time at Stealhead this year and I owned up to it. In over twenty career triathlons I have one penalty! So do me a favor, get off the blogs and forums and quit your high school gossip with your friends. If you have an issue with me or the way I race, call me. 949-374-3005. Until then I’ll be here, training, probably harder than you.

I didn’t want to write this but I couldn’t sit here and listen to the bull shit anymore.

September 12, 2010 Revolution 3 Cedar Point Half Race Report

2010-09-18T19:17:00.000-04:00

I had an elevated level of excitement going into this race. Just about everyone I know from multisport scene in the Greater Cleveland area would be there watching, or racing. It was the perfect opportunity to shine. The perfect day to have the perfect race I had been in search of all season.The Cedar Point banks of Lake Erie made for an appropriate late summer Ohio triathlon setting Sunday morning. The dark, mean looking chop water of Lake Erie was deceivably calm from shore, while seemingly mile high neon steal thrill machines stood in the background not yet open for vomit inducing business. It was a weird contrast for sure, but the mood was happy and full of energy. I was full of 100mg of caffeine spiked Espresso Hammer Gel and was as anxious as ever.

Everyone was there. All the local teams, clubs, shops, studs and underdogs were mixed about, toes in the sand staring at the water restless, pointing and asking. There I was too, on the cold beach, calm, with something to prove. The stage was set for the inaugural event to unfold and in the back of my mind I wanted this one to be perfect. I deserved.

After the Full Distance athletes had been getting run through the spin cycle for about an hour, it was the Halfers turn. My wave went second, male 25-29.

My standard warm up was done and I was now standing in the front of our group at the edge of the water. “Ten seconds” the announcer warned. Silence. 8:36 am, the gun went and so did we. Trying to be aggressive from the start I went hard though the freezing knee high water charging for the initial buoys, it wasn’t getting deeper the further we went in. Awkwardly I was diving, water jogging and pseudo swimming just trying to stay up front and get to deep water as quickly as possible. Thankfully, soon enough we were swimming but I was realizing my HR was too high and the choppy waves were going to be an issue. Nonetheless I tried my best to get into a long and strong rhythm and head towards the first turn.

Rhythm was not to be found and I was getting pounded and

pushed all over the course by the waves, the current and other swimmers arms. Seemingly making up no ground on any buoys, I felt like I was on a swimming treadmill. Unable to keep any sort of line towards a buoy or stroke consistency, about fifteen minutes in I had thoughts of bagging the race…not a good sign. This was quickly turning into the most annoying, less than perfect swims of my life. I had zero sense of direction and panic was at the front door, but all I could do was keep swimming forward, wherever that was.

At one point after making two right hand turns around buoys I was relieved to be headed back towards shore, until I popped by head up to sight and realized shore was completely behind me. Where the hell was I swimming? I am not sure how I got so turned around or even how I righted my course. But after what seemed like an hour in Maytag, getting slapped by cold grey chop I reached the shallow water again, fifty yards out. This time I stood up, completely stopped for a second, caught my

breath, thanked God, pealed down my wetsuit and began the long run though the water and up the beach. Out of the water in 31:45, up the beach and into T1 in 33:17. 3:17 longer than I wanted, not perfect.

Sticking to the game plan, I had to calm my HR in transition, yet be quick and efficient. In an effort to stay positive I put the imperfect swim behind, knowing the whole race was still to be had. Smooth transition and out of T1 and on my bike in 1:53. Not bad, and feeling surprising okay mentally and physically. Wait? Was that Jody (friend and teammate) I saw in T1 messing with his rear wheel? Didn’t he start five minutes ahead of me? “Shit”.

On the bike I was able to settle in easily. As usual I took the first few minutes to get comfortable, eat, drink and focus on the next two and half hours. There had been a lot of talk about the potential for wind. I was thinking about that too. So far it was not bad as I made my across a small strip of protected land that connects Cedar Point to the mainland.

All was status quo though the first thirty minutes. I was happy with my pace, I was warm and my legs were alive. Then, out of nowhere I got caught up in a pack of riders. It’s a hard thing to admit in triathlon but it is a reality you cannot avoid. Seven to nine athletes all riding at basically the same pace, unable to pull ahead and unwilling to drop back is never ideal in triathlon.

But in that moment it was a reality.

With a few exceptions the group seemed to respect the three-

bike length rule and avoided drafting at all costs. But as the ride went along, and Jody caught up to the group too, I was starting to get annoyed. I wanted to ride my race, and that didn’t include a team time trial with a bunch of cyclists I didn’t know or trust.

Jody and I would legally pull ahead a times, burning a match as we say, to get ahead of the chaos of the group. Only to eventually get sucked back in, it was literally impossible to drop the train behind us, and frankly, it was pissing me off. I am

not willing to cheat but I hated watching these suckers ride up the road without me while they cheat. We were riding fast but always using my own efforts, always staying back or passing in legal time. I had to come to terms with the situation and realized all I could do is play by the rules and stay in a legal position and distance from other riders at all times. I did that and I have no regrets about the way I rode.

I think most triathletes would agree, that even with legal distance separation, a pace line of that length is still an advantage when it comes to avoiding wind. The wind was definitely a factor, there was no denying it, and at times it sucked. Some of the other riders were clearly taking advantage of their peloton, sucking on wheels and working with each other. Assholes. But I couldn’t let it bother me. At one point a race official rode up on the group and took down some numbers, being in a legal position I wasn’t worried or caught. “Lighting is not going to strike twice,” I remember thinking (see Steelhead 70.3 Race

Report). Others were penalized and it made me happy.

Everything else about the ride was going as planned. I was eating and drinking consistently and holding back just a touch at all times. I knew I wanted to run hard, and if that meant holding back ten percent on the bike, I was okay with it, it was part of the plan. I refused to let the group affect my game plan too. There was no advantage to being caught up in that mess; I can say that with confidence.

About two hours into the ride I found my bottles or Hammer Café Latte Perpetuem and Raspberry Hammer Gels dangerously close to empty. I had been going through it all at a much quicker pace than usual and I wasn’t sure why. I was forced to seriously ration what I had left and it made me nervous. At times I felt shaky but never anything I couldn’t make up with a

quick hit of Hammer Gel. I was walking a thin line with calories, but that what I was trained to do, I was okay with it…kind of.

We arrived back at the five-mile long strip of land right outside of transition. The group, still in tact, settled into a semi-legal pace line as we made our way down the home stretch. I felt okay but not perfect and I was annoyed that I couldn’t pass on the single lane rode. The last miles felt like a snails pace but there was nothing I could do but stay in line. Our speed slowed considerably on that stretch and I was not happy about it. All this time getting caught in the group and now we were going to sand bag it into T2 on a skinny one-lane road with no chance to pass. I tried to stay calm and spin my legs at a high cadence.

Jody right behind, I knew he wasn’t thrilled about the situation either.

Looking back I can’t say the slow approach into T2 helped my run but it definitely afforded me time to seriously chill my HR, yet aggravate my mind before the biggest push of my life on the run. Into T2 in 2:33:33 average speed 21.9 MPH. Less than perfect, again. I was behind schedule by over three minutes on the bike, and over five minutes overall. All I could do was make it up running.

“Where the hell is my rack?” A brief moment of panic as I was lost in the sea of racks in transition, thankfully a volunteer helped me find it. Bike racked, helmet off, visor on, socks on, shoes on, laced, number belt on, Espresso Hammer Gel flask in hand and I was off. Out of T2 and running in 1:53. Jody was fifteen feet ahead of me.

My run strategy was simple. Settle in, get my legs under me, eat and drink the first two full miles…no matter what, two full miles. Needless to say this was to take extreme amounts of patience and trust. Admittedly, I have issues with both. Miles three to ten were also simple. Run hard, steady and consistent, stay on top on calories and push. The last 5k, throw down, no holds bared, game time. Easier said than done really, but there I was running, in the moment, with high expectations, in search of the perfect run split.

I saw Christian (friend and teammate) early on, he asked how I felt, I didn’t know yet. I was still concerned about my calories

so I hit the Espresso Hammer Gel hard and fast. Five minutes later, I was feeling good, Jody still out front, and we were running steady. Through two miles in 14:12, not super slow but I felt in control and my HR was in check. I was eerily calm and ready for the business end of the run. Mile three was slowest yet, I had to pee badly and it was affecting my stride. I hate stopping to pee, but I knew I had to. With Jody still fifteen feet out front; I slipped into a Porto-potty at the mile three aid station. I came out and he was up the road, determined to make up the time I burned a match and caught back up to save the mile. Relieved, I was happy to be though four miles and feeling great. We were now running shoulder to shoulder, “perfect” I thought, “just like the old days” I said to him, “I am going to hold on to your shoulder as long as I can” (Jody has a lot to do with me becoming a competitive runner and triathlete, we grew into the sports together

and have always pushed each other to the max. How appropriate this was.)

He wasn’t feeling great and I felt bad for him, selfishly I wanted him to run with, but it wasn’t his day. He slowed and I made the pass, I felt strong, but I felt for him too, He wanted this race as much as I did, but with a mechanical on the bike and issues on the run, it wasn’t in the cards for him this day. None the less he was still pushing

on.

The next six miles I can honestly say were a blur and I don’t remember much. This is what I remember however. I was extremely focused, I had tunnel vision, and I felt ridiculously strong while passing people constantly. Spectators were telling me I looked strong and cheering me on. I didn’t acknowledge, speak, or think; it was quite in my head. I clicked off each mile split, seeing the times gave confidence to run harder. I remember at one point feeling alone on the road. I began to feel nervous because how long can this last? I had thoughts of it all coming crashing down at mile eleven with an epic bonk for the ages. I was scared pain would find me, but I just kept running fast, living in the moment. Running strong but cautious moved fast. “The business end,” I remember telling myself.

I turned back onto the causeway at mile eleven. It was a bridge incline over the water and the cross winds were whipping like mad. Still feeling no pain I passed Stacey (Iron-girlfriend) as she was going out, her encouragement was all I needed to give the last two miles every ounce I had to offer. But the wind hurt badly, it was coming across me with force and my legs were taking a beating on the only incline on the course. Finally I was feeling the effects of the day, with less than two miles to go I was forced to earn my time.

I dug deep the last fourteen minutes. Probably as deep as I have ever been and it hurt like hell, it hurt like mile twenty-three of a marathon. Finally across the bridge, I ran past transition, into the park and down the chute. Legs like fireworks, emotions unstably high, I crossed the line with a huge rush of adrenaline for a run split of 1:34:26 and an overall finishing time of 4:44:12. Behind schedule.

Immediately I remember the words of my coach in his last email to me before the race: “You are going to find HUGE satisfaction when you cross the finish line because you are going to realize you left every drop of energy on the course.” He was right, he usually is.

I was fired up in a way I had not been all day. With an explosion of energy, I didn’t hurt any more and I wanted to keep running to the moon. I wanted to climb a roller coaster and bend it’s steal beams. I had never felt a surge like that go through my body, especially at the end of a race. I was completely consumed by the moment. It was a weird feeling for sure and I still have a hard time remembering it completely. The contrast of using every ounce of energy on the course and the thrill of finishing with such a strong run, gave my body a rage filled celebration as a reward. “Unbelievable day”, I remember thinking, “Not so perfect, but unbelievable”.

Soon enough I came back down to earth and the pain found me again. I sat motionless for a few minutes at the finish line. With family and friends all around me it was silent again in my head, I took a moment to reflect, give thanks and feel relief, I was happy to be done. Regardless of everything, it’s always good to finish.

Thinking back on the race now, several days past, one word keeps popping in my head: perfect. I went into this race wanting perfection; I felt I had worked for it, earned it even. Throughout the day I was looking for it everywhere, constantly evaluating everything I did on a two standard scale, perfect, or not. And it wasn’t fair. Why did I want perfection anyway? Why was I judging myself this way?

What I learned is that the perfect race is a myth, a unicorn, a pot of gold. I leaned that it is unfair to be unhappy with anything short of the perfect, it weighs too much on your conscience and it eats at your desire to push on. Perfection is an unhealthy desire. It should never be a measure of success.

I learned that this word should be lost form every triathletes vocabulary. Perfection is impossible to define, qualify and quantify. There are too many elements and factors that prevent it. But isn’t that what makes sport so great in the first place, the unexpected moments, the all-of-a-sudden instances, and the opportunity to overcome?

So I thought about it more. What exactly did I expect in the perfect race? Why pursue perfection in sport, what is perfect anyway? Is perfection as specific as every stroke, stride, breath and heartbeat or is it just a certain set of numbers on the clock when you cross the line? Is perfection a feeling, a time, or place? Does the realization of perfection leave anything to be desired? Is there perfection in pushing your body to the limit, doing your best, and still being unsatisfied with the result? Is perfection selfish, running strong side by side with a friend when you know his day has gone to shit? Is perfection found when you continue to race with all you have after endless spells of bad luck? Or is the absence of perfection worth quitting for? And does perfection have to choose between cheating and giving in? By answering these questions I learned perfection isn’t any of these things. These are all things that happen in the imperfect world that require adaption and the ability to overcome. What I should have been in search of is the opportunity to overcome, the chance to rise above the inevitable imperfect.

This race taught me that the tedious pursuit for perfection is a dead end. That embracing the opportunity to work through the imperfect is more important. I had tough moments at this race for sure; I had hopeless moments of distress, self-doubt, and failure. Things went wrong all around me, but I moved forward. In a day that was accumulated by endless imperfect moments I was able to find success and accomplishment. I never found perfection, that’s for sure, but I am glad. I had much more fun making my way through the imperfect seventy some miles and coming out stronger on the other side.

_______________________________________________________________________

Later that day, when the results were posted I learned I won the men’s 25-29 age group for the Half Distance. My first (what I consider) major win in my triathlon career. Once again, I am happy to say, it was a totally unexpected victory on a less than perfect day.

July 31, 2010 Steelhead 70.3 Race Report

2010-08-03T19:15:00.002-04:00

It was a wet, cool race morning. I had slept well the night before and all pre-race prep had gone as planned.. While setting up transition it was literally pouring rain and everything was getting soaked, there was no way around it. I had to be set up and out of transition by 6:45 AM, my wave didn’t go off until 8:45 AM. I had two solid hours of time to kill. I tried to stay off my feet, dry, calm and hydrated but it was hard not to get anxious, sleepy, bored and generally nervous. I watched others exit the water and move on the bike before I had even started. The one thing I didn’t think about was all of the people that would be in front of me, and that I would have to pass throughout the course.

8:45 AM, after a nice warm-up physically and mentally, the gun goes off and I am in the mix. I had an aggressive start, charged hard for the first buoy, did a few dolphin dives and actually fell into a solid rhythm easily and kept my HR low. Probably one of the best starts I have ever had in any distance triathlon as I found myself in the lead pack. I was off in a good stride, calm and controlled. The water was relatively cool, clear, and calm. Time went by and I was feeling good, there were small rollers coming on shore that were pushing us slightly, so every so often I made sure to sight and keep the next buoy right on my right shoulder. I only drifted left once but quickly made it back on course.

I am not sure how we met up but I literally swam shoulder to shoulder with another swimmer the entire second half. We took turns surging the pace and the other would respond every time. We bumped and kicked the entire time but neither of us would go out of our way to get out of the others way. I think in the end it helped us both to hold a strong pace, keep a good line, move through the traffic in the water and get to the swim exit faster.

As I took my first steps on the beach I heard someone yell, “second white cap” (not true but it gave me motivation at the time)

I knew I had a 100 yard + run up the soft sand beach to T1. Again, the goal was to keep the HR as low as possible but keep moving quickly. Out of the water and up the beach in 29:37, feeling good.

Arriving in transition my HR had spiked with the run up the beach so I kept telling myself to take my time in transition, get my bike stuff, get my HR down and get going. Everything in transition was soaked from the rain. Out of T1 in 2:59, a bit long but I was organized, and my HR was in check. I was okay with it.

On the bike and ready to settle in. I immediately took down a Hammer Gel, sucked

down some water and double-checked all the essentials. The first twenty minutes or so I was a little nervous I was not going to feel good enough to pull off a nice bike split. My legs felt just okay, it was still raining, and the roads were slick and seemed to be a false flat. My average MPH wasn’t over 20 after 30 minutes and that was discouraging but I continued to press on. I had been passing tons of people right from the start and it continued.

Eventually I began to feel better and better. The road flattened and rolled while I increased my pace but I always kept my legs in check, holding back the biggest gear. Still passing people my confidence was much better because at a 7/10 P.E. my average MPH by 90 minutes was up somewhere around 21+. I just kept telling myself to be patient, hold back just a bit and separate the bike into two seventy five-minute halves. I went through half way right at 1:16 and change. I knew that at that pace and effort it would be easy to even or negative split the bike and still have running legs, I was feeling great. Constantly sipping from my Hammer Perpetuem, Gel, lots of water and a few supplements, I kept my nutrition right to plan and it was paying off in final hour. The legs were doing well and mentally I was in a good place too.

Mile 52. As I had been doing all day as a result of an 8:45 AM start time, I was passing lots of people. This time it was a large pack of people all coming down the final road. I make a quick glance back and saw there was a guy right on my wheel. Clearly drafting I gave him a headshake and tried to get him off my wheel. He stayed put, oh well. I kept riding and was quickly

approaching the big group of riders moving much slower. Just before I swung out to the left to make the pass the rider on my wheel got on it and flew past me, he turned and yelled “come on man” in other words saying, I sat on you’re wheel for a while, now get on mine and lets pass this group and ride into T2 strong. It was one of those split second decisions that seemed to just happen, but this is how I see it now. I was not happy he was on my wheel and I wanted to get back the effort, I didn’t like

the fact that he passed me (didn’t happen much all ride) and most importantly while all this was happening we were passing several people so in a way I had to swing out to the left also to get around everyone. Sure enough right as I swung out behind him, I heard the rumble of a motorcycle right behind me. At that point I knew who it was and got on my horse to try to pass him back quickly, to make a legal pass. Well, I obviously couldn’t do that quick enough because we were already going 26+ at this point. The USAT Race Official pointed at me, held up a red card and instructed me to stop at the next penalty tent. Blocking was the hall. I remember yelling back to him “what was I supposed to do?” He didn’t answer. Having no idea where the tent was I was scared I was going to miss it, and get DQ’ed. I had thought of just skipping the tent too, but then again, thoughts of DQ’ed.

I knew I was guilty but at the same time I was pissed about the whole situation. I was pissed at the other rider, I was pissed at the race for starting me behind 1800+ racers, I was pissed at the race official and I was pissed at myself for doing something so stupid. I thought my race was over at this point, after a great swim and bike.

I rode hard, but pissed into T2. I was worried I had missed the penalty tent, and again I got caught up in traffic on the final road into transition having to slow down. Finally I saw the tent right outside of transition. At least at this point I knew I wasn’t going to get DQ’ed. As I approached the tent I was yelling to the volunteer, “I just got a red card and was told to come here, what do I do?” She quickly handed me a stopwatch and told me to give it back to her when it read four minutes. Again, I was

pissed, but had to stay calm, try to relax, hydrate, stretch and make the most of my time in penalty.

I was off the bike and in Penalty Tent in 2:30:12. Standing there I had to sign and initial some paperwork. Then the volunteer pointed me to the head Race Official and asked if I wanted to talk to him. I did. I told him the situation and my concerns and he gave me some political cookie cutter answer about how the pro’s do this for money and that we can’t get in their way, he also said he appreciated the feedback and that I was calm with him and not an “asshole like most other people who get sent to the penalty tent”. Four minutes in the tent were up and I was free to go into transition at 3:34:12…Official bike split.

In transition I didn’t have to worry about keeping my HR down, as I was completely rested, although the run down to the end of the long transition area did take a minute. I already had my helmet and shoes off, I threw on my soaked socks, laced up my shoes, clipped my number belt and was off. Threw T2 and running in 2:45. Again, maybe a bit long.

My legs felt awesome. I was encouraged, but I was questioning to myself, was it from the rest or did I hold back on the bike just enough to have good legs. I guess I’ll never know. Either way I was running strong to start. But I knew my race plan was

to keep the first two miles completely in check. I had to show a lot of patience to keep these miles controlled and relatively slow even if they came easy. Through one mile and one of the bigger hills on course, I split 6:45. Oops. Mile two had to be slower or I would never hold pace the entire run. I continued to feel good; mile two was a bit slower but not much (7:07). Again I felt strong and I was okay with my first two miles being a bit fast and off plan.

Sure enough I quickly went from trying to keep my speed in check to trying to keep my speed up. Each of the first four mile-splits went up several seconds and I knew that wasn’t good (3-7:09, 4-7:22). By this time I knew I needed energy and took down my Hammer Gel and Endurolytes three miles early at mile four. A few minutes later I was able to settle into a little groove and run strong while keeping my HR in check. That was my main focus the entire run. My legs were not the issue, it was my HR that needed to be controlled, otherwise I would pop and never come down.

The two-loop course was flat to rolling with three good hills, a few downhill sections and little shade over all. By this time in the afternoon it had gotten sunny and warm. The middle few miles went something like this:

5-7:15, 6-7:47, 7-7:10, 8-7:38, 9-7:25, 10-7:07, 11-8:03, 12-7:13

My pace was hardly consistent but the hills had something to do with it. I made up some time on the downhills and recovered quickly from the up hills, but either way I was in considerable pain by the final 10k.

I was fighting a constant battle to convince myself to push through the pain and run hard at that point. A few times I caught myself running too easy, not because I had to, but because I chose to, to avoid the pain. It was a weird feeling, totally able to run hard in significant but manageable pain, but at times choosing to back off to avoid (but prolong) the pain. It happened almost unconsciously. The final few miles were a constant internal battle like that.

I pushed on through the last miles (still passing hoards of slower running people) and got a small spark of energy running down hill the final mile into the finish. I ran as hard as I could, but still having to maintain my HR the entire time. I knew if I let it spike, I would never recover and hit the wall, even this late in the race. Looking back I am sure I flirted with that line the entire run. I was also probably very dehydrated by the end, which didn’t help. I ran as hard as I could into the c

hute and crossed the line. Like they all do, it felt good to be done. I crossed the line for a run split of 1:36:15, right at 7:20 pace. Official finish time 4:45:48. My watch finish time, minus penalty, 4:41:48.

Triathlon is an individual sport. I have always known this but this particular race threw it in my face. There is a dynamic between yourself and other racers, one that is shared but still so individual. I lived that this race. I got lucky and swam with a partner who forced me to keep pace. I was greedy and tried to use the same help on the bike and got called out for it big time. And while running I ended up alone again, seemingly the only person out there pushing the run. With no one to pace with or keep up with, I ran my own miles and was forced to do it alone while playing mind games with in my head. I might as well been on a thirteen mile tempo training run.

It was an interesting day to say the least. I sure learned a lot, overcame a lot and definitely hurt a lot. And still, even counting my four-minute penalty I managed a 70.3 PR by almost five minutes, not counting the penalty almost ten minutes! Still no Clearwater spot, which was the pie in the sky goal, but that’s okay, I am happy to relinquish those spots to those in my AG going 4:20 and under…wow. I guess I’ll keep chipping away my time, try to stay out of trouble on the bike, and see what happens in Cedar Point six short weeks from now.

Keepin it Fresh - '10 The First Half

2010-07-20T18:05:00.000-04:00

After the 50k in January I took some time to rest and enjoy the sweet things in life that I deprive myself of during the season (beer, candy, staying up past 11pm, Taco Bell etc.) But most importantly I took time to takemy mind away from the sport. Come February I was refreshed and mentally ready to get back into agrove. At times the Cleveland weather was a bummer but overall the month's training ended status quo.

March and April went by smooth too. I picked up some new training along the way. Occasionally I swam with the good people at Shaker Middle School Masters program, a nice way to step up my swimming form and put some variety to my stroke. Plus I need a better excuse to wake up at 4:45am a few times a week. I did a few circuit bike races in the spring too. Admittedly, not my usual style but I have to say I had a tons of fun during the series and it really helped to improve

my early season bike fitness. Most races I just sat in and tried not to get chewed up and spit out the back. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not. I did manage to win a preem on one lap in one race. A small victory, but a victory none-the-less. :)

To round out the spring I trained for and ran the Cleveland Half Marathon. Ready for the meat of the season to start I wanted to put my legs to the test and go for a PR. To start, training went

well. Coming off the 50k only a few months ago I had endurance on my side, the hard work was finding the lost leg speed. So the process took place just as any other. Naturally I had good workouts, bad workouts and just blah workouts leading up to the race. I was confident going in, even though I had an ambitious goal set for myself. Morning of the race there was no shortage of the typical "daze" I was ready to run hard. The family was out to support, friends all around both running and spectating and the weather was perfect.

Jody and Started together. We ran together for the first six miles or so. We were running very strong and fast and I honestly knew it was only a matter of time until he would drop me. He was super fit and going for a PR also. When he pulled away around mile seven I was stoked for him, he looked strong. I on the other hand was not feeling terrible but unable to keep the 6:30 pace we were clipping at. I slowed to a more sustainable 6:42ish pace and pushed on.

The finish was as inviting as any other and I was super happy to cross the line. 1:28:25, 6:45 pace. I thought I could/would have run a bit faster but was totally happy to have PR'ed. I gave it all the juice I had that day, that is for sure, so for an early season race, I was happy. Lots of

friends and family were hanging afterwards and it ended up being a great day.

Finishing the half marathon was important, because it meant the start of the multisport season. I had a full schedule: NEO Sprint Triathlon Kickoff at Clay's Park, Maumee Bay International, Steelhead 70.3, Revolution3 Half Distance, Ironman Florida. A full plate for sure but that is what I wanted.

The early season tune-up sprint race was just that, a tune up and an opportunity to get my triathlon legs back on. A small local race I was happy to be 5th overall and 1st in my age group, basically among friend.

I wanted to really have a go at the international distance at Maumee Bay. I have always felt this distance could suit me if I put a bit more effort into it. My coach and I decided to put that effort into it this year, fine tune the leg speed and see what I could pull off. A much tough day for sure but successful. I swam like crap, rode super hard and ran okay. Good enough for 12th overall, 3rd in my age group and a PR for the distance. It made me feel good to know that with some distance-specific training and focus I can excel at the shorter distance races. Definitely still room to improve (swim) but it was another great day of hearty racing among friends and

another successful early season race to gain fitness.

After Maumee Bay my focus was switched over to the longer stuff, Half-Iron and eventual Ironman. This included lots and lots of training and less racing for the meat of the summer. My sights were set on Steelhead and I wanted that race bad. I wanted a fair chance at Clearwater and I wanted to PR the distance. I knew these were within my abilities, but it would take big effort. For those reasons, the next few months I put my head down, woke up earlier, made plenty of sacrifices and trained harder than I have ever had in my life.

The Hangover - A Mind & Body Affair

2010-01-19T12:29:00.001-05:00

It's been a week since I crossed the finish line of my first 50k trail race. I intentionally waited a week to write about it. I needed that time to allow my mind and body to recover. I needed that time to allow myself to reflect on the experience and draw some thoughtful conclusions on the day.

So here I am. For the most part fully recovered and anxious to get back to the training grind and ready to put some thoughts to paper. My mind doesn't remember the pain it was in a week ago. My legs do, but I like that. I call it the race hangover, a true mind and body experience...pain that lasts just long enough to evoke nightmares, but short enough to make you forget and go back for more.

As for the 50k, I was trained to run the distance, I had friends, family and my coach along side of me at the start, and I knew the terrain quite well. The weather definitely could have been worse. So walking into this thing I felt comfortable and the nerves were at an all time pre-race low. I think the general mood and atmosphere of an ultra trail event also spoke to my uncharacteristic race morning zen. A true tri geek that I am not would just about flip at the carefree, unstructured set up of these trail events. Personally, I like it, it's a bit of fresh air from the uptight, calculated, obsessive type A multisport environment that I am accustomed to. But that's neither here nor there.

The day started status quo. Running ridiculously slow and steady through the first several miles, it felt like any other trail run I had ever done. As the morning wore on general running pains settled in but so did I into a groove that felt sustainable. We were running together my coach and I, shoulder to shoulder we ran at the same pace through the half way point and beyond. It was an experience I had never had before but I liked it. We strategized together about pace and the trail conditions, we negotiated aid stations as a team and kept each other accountable for just about everything. As the miles wore on the teamwork became a bit one sided. I was doing much of the receiving and probably offering little aid, but it was all I had in me and I am sure he understood. His ultra experience far surpasses mine.

Other teammates came and went on the trails to run sections of the course with us. That help was huge, physically it was a perfect distraction from the pain. Not to mention the bond among teammates that were formed.

From somewhere around mile 23 to the finish, I was feeling it. I was feeling every uneven step forward. My body literally hurt from head to toe. It hurt when I ran and it hurt if I walked. My legs were in pain beyond pain, they were so numb they hurt and nothing relived them, not even stopping. Nutritionally I was on thin ice because of some non dramatic stomach issues a few hours earlier that lead me to ditch my traditional fueling strategy for flat Coke and fig cookies. It was makeshift but it was working. The Coke was giving me just enough sugar and caffeine to put my delirious mind into focus and kept me running. Coach kept me running too. We walked steep hills and all stairs but other than that we ran. We continued to run together into the late miles, step by step my body denied the pain. But the late miles are where it all began to make sense to me, where I learned about pain and just exactly what it was.

The pain was there full on. It was pain that didn't let go, give in, or fade. This pain transcended my body and seeped into my mind. Everything hurt. My blood hurt. I was pain. Pain was smeared all over the trail. Pain was realizing that this particular 50k course would be longer than 32 miles. (do the math) Pain were the steps I went up 3 earlier times that day but somehow were steeper and longer the last time. It was the trails that got hillier. The mud thicker and ice slicker. Pain is when I lost all balance. Pain was the final 13 minute mile and sitting at the finish thinking about what I just did. Pain was six hours, twenty nine minutes and fifty nine seconds of non stop running. Last Sunday I survived pain, kept running through the heart of pain and finally, a week later, it all makes sense.

It really was a simple lesson that I learned last Sunday. I learned about the mind and body dynamic. I learned that they talk to each other but are not always willing to listen to each other, and thats a good thing. Sunday I physically ran my body to it's breaking point. A point its been to before and knows well. I ran to the point that causes internal systems to shut down. Honestly, not much good comes from beyond this point and frankly it's not a good place to be. At this point the mind takes over for the body. It sends intense signals of pain to every cell of the body insisting that it aborts mission. Insisting the body stops. The mind, in all of its valor saves the body from total self destruction. What I learned was that pain is the minds friend. The mind likes pain. It uses pain to stop the body.

I am not sure how, when or why but on Sunday my body denied my mind. It ignored the pain signals, it became numb to the the mind's demands. My body proved my mind wrong and turned a deaf ear. So when everything hurt, and my mind was screaming to stop, my body just kept moving without any regard for itself. I simply just kept moving forward. Dangerous? Probably. A breakthrough in my ability to overcome my mind, pain and my limits? Absolutely.

What I learned Sunday is that your mind puts limits on the things that you can physically do. I think many of us convince ourselves that certain goals are unattainable. We tell ourselves that we have limits and that we are only capable of certain things to a certain limit. Our minds cage our dreams and shackle our aspirations. We limit ourselves out of fear of pain. Far too often we let our own minds completely dictate our limits. I learned Sunday that that is unacceptable for my body. I learned that if I leave my mind out of it, I can overcome anything. My body can achieve things its own mind doubted and never thought possible. I learned how much smarter my body is than pain. I can operate in the midst of thick, unrelenting pain. I learned that sometimes my mind is my worse enemy and that pain is an excuse.

Personally this dynamic of mind and body is complex and I can honestly say it has taken me 27 years and 32 some miles of January trails to figure it all out. But I can also say I am better off because of it. I am better off as an athlete and as a person with a professional career and life. I am better off because I know I can achieve things in life I never thought were possible. I know no limits of my own possibilities.

So as I sit here tonight, rested, pain free and eager to start my next journey I am happy because I am sitting here without any limits on myself. I know now that I don't know what I can't do. And thats a good feeling. I am happy to have found a healthy dose of the racing daze this January and even better to have learned a lesson about myself that I will take with me to many a race course in the future. Truthfully there are definitely things I probably can't do, but at least now I know, I have no idea what they are.

What do you think you can't do?

01

2010-01-06T21:30:00.000-05:00

January is my favorite month. Especially in Ohio. I love January here because its bitter cold and hard. Ohio Januarys are tough months, they require thick skin. It's dark most of the day, its never above freezing and the moisture and wind glazes over the earth almost grinding life to a stand still. January is dead and helpless. The holidays are over and the cheer of the season is gone, there isn't much to look forward to because spring is still a winter away. It's January, now what?

As an athlete January is pivotal. It is a month to answer questions about yourself, about your grit. It's a month wanted to be used, how you use it will be reflected in the months to come.How will you answer the tough questions to bring it to life?

Is it a time to rest, relax and wait for the air to warm and snow to melt? Because after all, it's still winter. Do you convince yourself the season is so far off and there is plenty of time in the spring? Or do you embrace the month. Do you squeeze motivation from the desolate landscape and push yourself through the freeze. Sure, January is far off from race season, so do you use the time to build an even bigger base? Do you steel this time from the calendar and make it yours?

I love January because its a hard month. It's the first month and nothing comes easy, it sets the tone. You have to work hard for what you earn. January is blue collar. There is no glory this month, the workouts are not sexy.

So ask yourself how you will use January. How have you used it before? What are you willing to do to change? How bad do you want it later? It may seem a bit far out, but if you invest in your future in January and patiently stamp the time card day in and day out, your time will come...just not this month. So here's to January, the unsung month, when champions are made and no one notices.

I ran past the ski resort the other day...

2009-12-29T16:42:00.000-05:00

Actually I ran past both Brandywine and Boston Mills Resorts on the towpath heading south. It was Christmas Eve I have to say it definitely brought back some good old memories. Not only that but it gave me a chance to reflect a bit on how my athletic career has changed over the past several years and how that has basically shaped my life.

I grew up less than 3 miles from the ski resort. But for all intents and purposes I grew up at the ski resort. Literally every winter day from the 3rd grade to senior year in high school my life was consumed by skiing. When could I ski next, with who (normally Jimi and Chad), where (normally Brandywine) and for how long. The early days also posed questions like how am I going to get there, what will I eat and how will I get home as late as possible (normally Mom, a Snickers Bar and Mom, respectively). I managed to get all the questions answered each year to make sure I kept skiing as much as possible. That was my life and I wouldn't have it another way.

So naturally as I got older the skiing became competitive, I was getting better and better and I was having more and more fun each year. Most winters I was able to tag along with Dad for a week in Colorado on his business trips, this provided me more opportunities to ski with some good kids and learn the latest trends in skiing so that I could really set the bar high when it was time to come back down to Ohio.

It was time to get a job in high school and skiing was still on the mind. Lucky for me one of Ohio's best ski specialty shops was about 2 minutes down the road from school. Even better the owner's son went to my school and naturally through skiing we became friends and coworkers. Over the course of several years I was lucky enough to have made the people at Buckeye Sports Center not just my employer, but my second home, my second family, my best friends, my girlfriends, and even more. We were a close knit group of people who all shared the same love for skiing. We made our livings skiing, we talked skiing, we read skiing books and magazines, we watched skiing movies, and in our free time we skied together. We had easy access to the worlds latest and best gear and the cheapest lift tickets across the country. We were a make shift winter family and skiing was our last name. My skiing life was becoming well rounded and the line between it and real life was getting frozen over.

BSC is a part of my life I hold dearly. From the friendships and family to learning the business of retail, Buckeye represents a certain part my life in the truest and purest sense. But all of that BSC love will have to wait for another time and blog...

Back to skiing. I was good. Really good, and getting better. Free skiing was just starting to become semi popular and myself and my friends were on the eastern forefront of what is now called the freestyle skiing revolution. In the winter I was competing as much as I could but it was tough to find freestyle events where skiers were allowed to enter, when we found them, we entered, and we won most of the time. In the summers I was going to camps across the county and doing quite well. As a result of all of this my skills, local popularity, and my head were growing year over year and I liked it.

Enter February 2005. The annual Surge (remember that stuff?) Big Air Competition at Brandywine Ski Resort. Now in the hierarchy of important events this one ranked pretty low being a very small local event in the middle of customer appreciation weekend at the resort. It didn't get me points or standings and I don't even think it was a USSA sanctioned event. None the less this event was big for me. It was on my "home court" with all my friends and family there most years.

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon and the 25ft or so table top they built was actually respectable for Ohio. The snow was soft and fast. This was going to be a whole lot of fun...and easy I remember thinking.

The competition format was easy. Everyone jumps twice, 3 judges (all my friends) score you on amplitude, style, and landing. Take your best score of the 2 jumps. My randomly assigned number that afternoon happened to be 747. Fitting, I remember thinking, because my friend Jimi and I had a pretty solid reputation around the resort for jumping MUCH higher than anyone around. We were also the reigning champs in this event for the past 3 years. Jimi wasn't there this day. He was attending a funeral of a close friend of ours grandfather, most of my friends were at the funeral. I should have been at the funeral too.

I have to say I will never forget for the rest of my life the calmness I felt standing in the start box waiting for the sign to go. The sound of some friends shouting out my number, the cowbells ringing and my last name and number getting the call for the go-ahead. I remember approaching the jump as usual in a quasi tuck position trying to gain as much speed as possible. I remember leaving the ground. Then I remember something going wrong. Way wrong. I was high in the air and it was silent.

After performing some variation of a twisting flipping upside down inside out something or another, I came down hard, perpendicular to the pitch line. The impact almost took me to the ground but I fought to stay upright, one ski ejected because of the force. I over shot the landing pretty significantly and landed flat from about 30ft up. It wasn't dramatic and probably just really sloppy looking. I remember gathering my ski and feeling embarrassed. I had a hard time getting it back on and getting down the rest of the hill. When I finally got down a reporter from The Plain Dealer walked up to me and asked if she could ask me a few questions about freestyle skiing and this event. Sure, why not. Talking to the reporter was the first time I really experienced the stinging pain in my right knee. It hurt like hell but I was keeping cool as we spoke. When we were done talking I hopped back on the chair lift and back up to the start line.

Because of the large number of participants it would be a while until my final attempt. So I gingerly skied over to a pack of friends sitting and watching on the side of the hill near the jump. One was a ski patroller. When I skied up to her I remember her asking me what happened up there, it wasn't like me. I told her I didn't know but that I heard my knee pop when I landed and that it hurt really bad. She rolled up my ski pant, grabbed a rubber glove from her medical kit and stuffed it with ice. She said it looked swollen, to keep the ice on it and whatever i do, DON'T JUMP AGAIN, this little event was not worth it. It wasn't that bad, I remember thinking as she skied off.

I am here to tell you, had I listened to her that day, my athletic career would not be what it is or isn't today. But of course I ignored her, jumped again and this time managed to completely blow out my right knee upon "landing". My knee had completely exploded from the inside. Even though I executed the jump properly in the air my semi weakened injured knee could not take the impact of landing again and completely gave out on me. My whole body smashed to the snow. After what seemed like hours I was loaded onto a sled and was taken (by my friend) off the side of the hill and into the medical hut. I remember asking the ski patrollers as they were getting me on the back board if this meant that I disqualified. They laughed...I wasn't joking. Once in the medical hut the pain set in, it was the most concentrated and intense feeling I had ever experienced in my life. I will never forget the look on my dad's face when the doctor told him the damage.

What happened from there is less important. But what I like to tell people is that it really wasn't that big of a deal. Just a few trips to the hospital, several MRI's and X-Rays over the course of 3 months. A knee reconstruction surgery at 19 years old, several months on a couch, more in PT, missed school, strained friendships, plenty of finger pointing, a plastic trophy (I actually still won on my first jump) a custom made thigh to ankle ski brace, buckets of tears and pain killers, and most importantly the experience of listening to a doctor tell me I would never competitively ski again. Not to mention enough alone time on a couch to come face to face depression, doubt, regret, attempted prescription drug abuse, my parents, medical bills and the reality of dealing with a life and body changing injury.

My skiing life hit a brick wall hard and fast that day in February. And my real life was staring me in the face. The good life I knew from age 9 was over. What the hell was I going to do now, I remember thinking.

Fast forward a year or so. Healed emotionally and physically I was back in college. John Carroll. I had just transferred from a school in Buffalo, New York that I went to right out of high school. It was a good move to transfer. The only reason I went there was because I had a chance to ski on the Holiday Valley Ski Team and I needed to be close to the resort. Out of high school I chose my college based on skiing without ever seeing the school or campus. Maybe I wasn't healed completely, denial is a bitch. The injury prevented me from skiing at a high level and the team never panned out for me. So after a two years in Buffalo I moved home to Cleveland and focused on something other than skiing for once in my life...graduating college.

I can honestly say I don't remember why, but that spring I signed up for the Cleveland Marathon 10k. My dad took me to the expo. I stayed up all night the night before with nerves and ran the race in a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt. I remember sprinting to the line trying to finish under an hour. For the first time since my accident I felt a rush that equaled what I felt on the slopes. It was different in a way, but a similar feeling of being alive rushed through my body as I pushed though the line. I couldn't believe it.

Crossing the finish I was exhausted, but something about the experience was addicting. This running thing, I remember thinking, it's tough, but I kinda like it...

A Christmas Comeback

2009-12-25T12:07:00.000-05:00

All of the gifts are opened and the family is hanging around the house playing with all the new goods. Mom is already at the stove prepping the coming feast. I am sitting here on the couch, still in my pj's just sort of relaxing and thinking about this past year. But more importantly thinking about how much I am anticipating 2010. I am normally not one to contemplate the passing years much but after spending the last good hour paging through a book my sister gave me, I couldn't help but to think things though.

Lance Armstrong's The Comeback 2.0 is something impressive. But before I get into it I must admit two things: 1. I like Lance, don't love him, I respect him as an endurance athlete authority and cancer fighting champion. But I'm not obsessive, this book is the first piece of Livestrong paraphernalia I have ever owned. 2. The book is more of a photo journal than story book, meaning its words are few as the pictures tell most of the story's. The pictures are pretty vivid and awfully insightful into the private life of such a "superstar".

None the less the book's chronicles of Lance's 2009 has left me to put some good thought into what 2009 was for me and what I hope to see 2010 pan out to look like. But mostly 2010. I cant wait for it. I guess because of the perspective of the book I look forward to 2010 from an athletic view. I am sitting here coffee in hand, warm, cozy and full of Christmas contentment. But inside I am ready for the 2010 to be hear. I am ready to do the things I did not in 2009. And I can't wait to feel the push and pain I will conflict upon my body. To put in the hours I didn't in the past.

Lance's book proved to me that every year should be better than the next and that it is never too late to peak. It made me anxious to put in the real work and to not fear anything, or anyone. It gave me confidence. Maybe I am just a decade late in feeling the Armstrong effect but I have to admit it is in full force as I sit here quietly with my family. Because inside the fire is lit, its hot and it's burning a flame with the power of a thousand suns.

I never thought I would have such a cliche source of motivation but I have to say I don't mind it. Although he has transcended endurance sports and has become a household name among the most nonathletic, I am proud to be inspired by the best. Because as much as you might dislike his popularity, or continue to question his cleanliness I contend that he is the poster child for our fringe sport and quite frankly one of the best to ever live. So why fight it?

With all that being said, Lance isn't my hero and I probably won't sport the little yellow bracelet but I do respect the guy as an athlete and beyond. I respect his drive, his focus, his expectancy for the win, and his down to earth approach to fame, and to be honest I respect his business sense. Not to mention his determination to cure the most lethal disease in the world.

So as I leave 2009 behind and look forward to 2010, as of right now I have to one person to thank for the motivation. I have to say It's rather unexpected, a bit cliche, but when it comes down to it, quite invited. See you in "10".

Don't Forget The 50k...The Triathlon Daze

2009-12-14T19:07:00.000-05:00

I am running my first 50k trail race on January 17th. I guess it will act as my first official race of the 2010 campaign. A bit earlier than usual but there will be a considerable gap of time between it and the next one. In all reality I will treat it more like an off season adventure than an in season race. And here in lies the problem. This will serves as longest single run I will have ever embarked on. I plan to finish in a reasonable time and I know it is going to really beat me up mentally and physically. Further more my coach from Madison, WI is flying in to hit the trails with me. You would think a race with those accolades would warrant a bit more attention than I am giving it.

Don't get me wrong, I am training consistently, training long and going through all the motions to make sure I toe the line prepared. But the things is, well, I just don't care too much about it. I mean, I guess I am excited, looking forward to the challenge, maybe, but the focus, the eye of the tiger, the relentless drive, it's not there. It's not even close to there. It's like I am intentionally disrespecting the 31 some miles of relentless CVNP trails that plan on kicking my ass for 5+ hours in 6 weeks. And I don't care. I am not scared, anxious, nervous, psyced, nothing...I am emotionally flat lined about this very long and testing race and I can not figure out why.

So here I am running my favorite trails daily, and as the cold winter forest trots past my glazed eyes my brain is dreaming. It's dreaming of sweaty and humid summer days on the pavement, of mass swim starts and running off the bike. It's dreaming about the podium and hammering on down in the bars. About 59 min 40k's and 39 min 10ks, about splits and transitions. My mind is dreaming about better days, warmer days, race daze.

So I realize, the truth is, I only really ever care about one thing. Racing triathlon fast and hard. It's what drives me, it's what focuses me, it's what I am meant to do. These trails, this 50k although challenging and brutal, they are not my motivation, they will not push me. But triathlon will. I get up for triathlon, and frankly that's about it.

So the trails this winter are long and cold but they will serve their purpose by letting me dream. They will force me to prepare for and respect them in January but for now they will allow me to dream about my lust for triathlon. Their lasting miles will force me to my limits this winter but as they do, they will serve as the setting for my dreams to unfold, and patients to run thin. They will serve as a place for me to learn, that I just don't love the pain of another race like I do triathlon.

So here is to careless winter patients and relentless desire for triathlon.

Welcome to DeJulius Blog. Chronicles of hard triathlon racing and the thrill of barely remembering it. I call that the race daze.