There is no Tri: The Bike: MORE Equipment Malfunctions?

OK, so I survived the swim and eventually made it back to the transition area, found my stuff and took a load off. I was pretty freakin' tired from my near-death experience in the water and I was in no hurry to jump on my bike.

I sat down, dumped some water on my feet to get the sand off and put my shoes, socks and helmet on. You'd think this would only take a couple minutes, but from the time I exited the water until the time I mounted my bike, more than 7 minutes had passed. My goal was a 4-minute transition, but at the moment I didn't give a f*ck.




So anyway, the bike course was really simple and really flat. It was a 14-mile rectangle with cones blocking off the right lane and police officers at intersections for traffic control. I'm no elite athlete by any stretch of the imagination (believe me, I've tried to imagine it, and it's just not possible), but this made me feel pretty special, so I gave every cop a little nod every time I passed one of them. Naturally, none of them acknowledged me because they probably signed up to catch bad guys and go on high-speed pursuits, not get up at the crack of dawn to tell cars to stop while a bunch of crazy asses rode through.

Not sure if I mentioned this before, but I ended up riding my Trek mountain bike for this triathlon. I had been using a friend's lighter and faster Marin hybrid for the past 7 months but had to give it back about a week before the Desert Tri. Luckily, I found some inexpensive road slicks that would fit my Trek, which would make the bike lighter and more efficient than the standard MTB knobby tires, but I hadn't been riding this bike for quite a while and wasn't sure how it would perform.

Thankfully, my amazing physical condition (ok, maybe it was the tweaks I made to try to get the geometry as close to the Marin as possible) allowed me to have a pretty decent ride. I passed quite a few people on mountain bikes and even a few road bikers, and I only got passed by one other mountain biker (who was passing the crap out of everyone, amazingly enough).

The bike stage would have been much better if I hadn't realized about 10 miles in that it felt like my knees kept getting higher and higher as I pedaled. At one point I peeked down at my seat post and realized my seat was slowly sliding down, making it harder to pedal and putting stress on muscles I wasn't expecting to use on the bike! After weighing my options and starting to feel like one of those grown men you see in the San Fernando Valley practically kneeing themselves in the chin because they're actually riding a kid's bike (you know what I'm talking about, L.A. friends!), I decided to pull over and make a quick seat adjustment.

Now I have no idea how long I was stopped -- it could have been 30 seconds or 3 minutes -- but there's no doubt having to slow down, stop, get off the bike, raise the seat, make sure it was centered, tighten it way more than I probably should have (to avoid a repeat performance), getting back on the bike and back up to speed cost me several minutes. But it's not like this was the difference between 1st place and 323rd place, so I wasn't too concerned.

And I actually felt pretty good over the last mile of the ride and wondered if I wasn't pushing myself hard enough (last thing I wanted to do was finish the race and actually feel good, with energy to spare). 

But then something happened that bitch-slapped me back to reality. I reached down and grabbed my water bottle, too a swig and went to put the bottle back in the cage. But I completely missed, and the bottle bounced behind me, gone forever. Now putting your water bottle back into the cage isn't something that takes a ton of strength or agility. It's literally a foot below below me, always in the same place. But I missed. This is when I realized I was more fatigued than I thought I was two minutes earlier, and now instead of wondering if I was going to have too much left in the proverbial tank at the finish, I started to question if I was even going to finish....

Next time: The Run: Make. It. Stop.

Ice of the Tiger

I was a late bloomer when it came to hockey. I didn't really get into it until I was in college, where I had a roommate from San Jose who was pumped about the inaugural season of the San Jose Sharks and got me all excited too. I was about 24 when I started playing ice hockey, and it was frustrating to watch the 18-year-old punks skate circles around me because they had been on skates since the age of 2.

So it was pretty awesome to find out we were living 2 miles from one of the few ice rinks in Los Angeles County (I swear it wasn't a factor when deciding to buy our house. Really). But this was no coincidence -- this was a sign from the hockey gods that Dash's destiny was to be a hockey player*. He's in his second "semester" of ice skating/hockey classes at the rink, and they recently help a skating competition for all the students to strut their stuff.

* If you've read Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell, you know this to be true, as Dash's birthday is in January.

Mr. Ball, Meet Mr. Wood

Where: Dodger Stadium

When: Saturday, April 3, 2010

Who: Angels vs. Dodgers, final Spring Training game

We went to Doyer Stadium to check out the final game in the 2010 Spring Training Freeway Series (Angels won, 6-4). I took this photo of Angels 3B Brandon Wood making a sweet catch on a foul pop up. It's pretty much my favorite sports photo I've ever taken.

The Apollo space program is back!(?)

After a 38-year hiatus, we revived the Apollo space program with the help of some Stomp Rockets.

There is no Tri: The Swim: I Don't Want to Die!

If you've never swam in a lake on a blustery March morning, let me sum it up for you: freezing-ass cold. The kind of cold that snaps you the fuck awake, knocks the wind out of you and takes "shrinkage" to a whole 'nother level. And that's WITH a wetsuit -- sexy open-backed wetsuit, I mean.

I honestly didn't think the lack of a full closure on my wetsuit would be too bad, but it was. See, I knew there would be a point in the swim when I'd be cold and tired -- or cold and freaked out, tired and freaked out, or cold, tired and freaked out -- and seriously consider calling it a day. But I never imagined it would be in the first 30 seconds.

Despite wanting to call out for my mommy and go into a fetal tuck, I pressed forward. I had counted to 10 before entering the water because I had heard all the horror stories of getting goggles kicked off your face or taking a knee to the head when you go balls out at the start of the race. So I figured my 10 count would provide me with a nice cushion between me and the rest of the pack and I'd be able to concentrate on my stroke and breathing (and not think about it feeling like someone was continuously dropping ice down the back of my shirt). But it turns out I'm a better swimmer than a lot of people, because within about 30 seconds I found myself amongst a pack of flailing triathletes, seemingly swimming for their lives.

But instead of trying to strategically weave my way through the pack -- did I mention the visibility in the water was pretty much zero? -- I stopped and treaded water for a second to get my bearings. This was a mistake, mostly because in a lake, there's no wall to push off from, no bottom to stand on and no side to grab onto.

After a second of panic, I decided to test the buoyancy of the wetsuit and rolled over onto my back. And then I floated. It could have been 10 seconds or 10 minutes (I still don't know), but I needed to stop, catch my breath and calm myself down. As I lay there floating, looking up at the dull, gray sky, I thought of how disappointed in myself I'd be if I gave up, so I rolled back over and said, "Fuck it." And then I swam. I did the breast stroke, the freestyle, the dog paddle, the side stroke, and maybe a couple of other strokes that technically haven't been invented yet. But I wasn't about to quit. And I now also knew I wasn't about to drown, so I had that going for me, too.

Quick interlude ... Something anyone who has done an open water swim in competition will tell you is, "Don't forget to sight." What this means is, preferably before the race starts, pick out a large, static object on the opposite shore and swim toward it, which will keep you on a relatively straight line.

And back ... So in lieu of risking a concussion or a kick to the velveties, I decided to just hold my position in the pack I was in and eventually we'd all end up back on shore. Unfortunately, I forgot about the whole "sighting" thing and looked up after about a minute to find myself a good 25 yards off-course. I think at this point I actually yelled, "Fuuuuuuuuck!" and proceeded to blame the people in front of me for leading me so far off-course.

Regardless of whose fault it really was (ok. ok, it was my own fault!), I carried on. And on. And on. Thankfully, I wasn't the only person having a rough swim and several of us trudged along together like a pod of dolphins born without flippers. Finally, I made it back to shore, but then had to run my ass up a short hill to the transition area, where my bike was wondering what the hell was taking me so long....


Next time: The Bike: MORE Equipment Malfunctions?!

There is no Tri: The Swim: Preamble

I grew up in Carpinteria, CA, with a pool in my backyard and the beach less than a mile from my front door. So it goes without saying that I feel comfortable in water and wasn't too concerned about being ready for the swimming leg of the triathlon. I'll admit, swimming long distances was never something I did with any regularity growing up, but after several weeks of training in our community pool and hitting the 1,400-yard mark for one session (the actual tri was 550 yards), I felt fairly confident leading up to La Quinta. The only thing missing was an actual open-water swim, which is vastly different than swimming in a calm, temperature-controlled pool that has black lane lines for spotting, 100% visibility and walls and a shallow bottom to rest on. But other than that, I felt like I was ready.

So anyway, back to Lake Cahuilla. One thing I read over and over while training was that it's important to warm up before the race starts --a short jog, bike ride or swim -- to get the blood flowing and to work out some of the pre-race jitters. Unfortunately, my event warmup consisted of panic and frustration. 

That's because as I zipped my wetsuit, something strange happened: the zipper made its way to the top, but it didn't zip closed. That's right, the zipper broke. After unsuccessfully doing a visual scan for the wetsuit rental booth, I returned to my rack and asked a fellow racer if he could pop the zipper back in -- which, of course, isn't actually possible on a wetsuit. He suggested closing it up with safety pins, but somehow I had the presence of mind to ask the question, "How am I going to get it off?"



So it was on to Plan B. I decided to just punk it and closed the velcro flap at the top, giving me quite possibly the world's first backless triathlon wetsuit. Don't get me wrong, I know I looked dead sexy, but this wasn't part of the plan for swimming in 65-degree water at 7:30 am.

I did have a chance to wade into the lake for a minute and crouch down to let the freezing-ass water into my open back, as I figured it was better to feel that shock before the horn when off than after. After that, I walked back onto the beach and waited with about 75 other people. The funny thing is that only one person mentioned to me that my zipper was down, but I chalked that up to everyone being busy getting into their "zone." Either that or they were simply mesmerized by my daring yet delectable open-backed wetsuit.

So a couple more minutes went by, and as I idly chatted with a couple other dudes an air horn suddenly went off and it was a stampede into the water. My plan was to hang back and swim on the outside, in order to avoid swimming into other people and getting kicked in the face, ribs or any other part of my person.

As most of the herd scampered into the lake, I waited, counted to 10, walked into the water and started swimming....

Next time: The Swim: I Don't Want to Die!

There is no Tri....

Swim. Bike. Run. Go as fast as you can. Don't stop. That's the basic premise of a triathlon.

The first time I ever talked about entering a triathlon was after I had been running three times a week for a couple months and was feeling confident and possibly up to the challenge. That was 14 years ago.

On the morning of Sunday, March 7th, I swam 500 meters, biked 14 miles and ran 3 miles in the Toyota Desert Sprint Triathlon in La Quinta. Approximately 5,000 days after first bringing it up in conversation, I had finally finished my first triathlon.

I will not lie to you: it was difficult, overwhelming and exhausting. But it was also the most gratifying thing I've ever done (athletically) in my life. There were definitely a few rough spots, some equipment problems and lots of room for improvement, but in the end I didn't really care because once I crossed that finish line, I had achieved my goal.

Scanning the crowd for Adrian....

My total time was 1:49:00, which put me 323rd out of 462 competitors and 18/24 in my division (my division being Clydes 35+, which is the politically correct way of saying "old fat dudes"). If I was 323rd out of 462 in my high school graduating class, that would be pretty embarrassing. But the beauty of the triathlon is that it's 500 people competing together, but in reality everyone is racing against themselves. And this sport  does not discriminate against gender, fitness level, age or physical limitations. In my race there was a guy who weighed close to 300 pounds, several septuagenarians, and at least two people who had each lost the lower half of a leg.

Spectators cheered for people they had never seen before, competitors offered words of encouragement as they blew past fellow racers (yes, I got plenty of that) and the 462nd finisher was no less of a triathlete than the person who finished first. And I'm willing to bet that #462 -- along with the other 461 -- will be out there again soon. Swimming. Biking. Running.


I'll be posting a more detailed account soon....

Picking Up the Intensity

So with a month to go until the triathlon, I definitely turned up the training intensity, especially in the pool.

February

Training Totals

These are my training totals for December and January. The holidays sort of threw me off a bit, so I wouldn't call December a solid month.

          December

January was definitely better. Once my schedule opened up considerably, I was able to spend a lot more time in the water.

          January

Crazy Dedicated or Just Plain Crazy?

At this moment I am 25 days, 1 hour and 10 minutes away from my first triathlon. It became official on New Year's Eve when I signed up and paid the $75 registration fee.

Since the post-N*tflix era has begun, my training intensity has increased dramatically.

I locked in a hotel room. I've reserved a wetsuit rental for the swim (water temperature in the low- to mid-60s -- call me a pussy, but at least I'll be a warm one). I bought my tri shorts (a shorter, less-padded version of regular cycling shorts) and tri top (I haven't worn a tank top since my varsity hoops days in the '80s, but this time ... pockets in the back!). I've exceeded the actual distances for each event during my training.

Despite all that, there was still some doubt in the back of my mind. I've always been more of an anaerobic athlete, after all -- baseball, basketball, hockey -- and was never a fan of endurance events. So the thought of doing 3 of them in a row, without stopping, occasionally makes me think I'm just fooling myself.

But today, I turned some sort of magical corner, halfway between determined dedication and completely crazy. My training schedule told me that today was a swim day, 35 minutes. I knew it was supposed to rain today, and it was freezing-ass cold.

But I swam anyway. In the cold rain. For 35 straight minutes and 1300 yards (that's 52 lengths of the half-Olympic-sized pool, bitches). I even got out of the pool after 2 laps and ran to my car to get the goggles I had left behind.

I am ready.

Back on the Tri Tip

I love a good BBQ as much as the next guy, but I'm here to talk about my triathlon training. While my lack of a triathlon-related post over the past couple months might lead you to believe I've abandoned the idea in favor of throwing my unemployed self regular pity parties, that's definitely not the case. In fact, after taking some sporadic time off for the holidays I've jumped right back into my prep work for the Toyota Desert Triathlon in March.

Now I wouldn't recommend that everyone go out and get laid off, but being jobless has actually improved my training and given me even more quality family time than I had before. Now, instead of only biking/running after 9:00 pm and only swimming on Sundays, thanks to Dash's schedule I can do my weekday training when it's still light out! This means I can swim more than once a week, I don't have to worry about run-ins with raccoons (as much) and I don't have to wear Day-Glo clothing anymore to ensure I arrive home safely.

Naturally, last week sucked because of the 37 inches of rain, but now that southern California has had its rainfall for the year, I'm going to be cranking out the miles for the next 5.5 weeks.