601 Boyd Mill. Franklin Training.

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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.