Olympic Diver Heckling

My friend Mike recently joined Facebook and has been posting like a madman, apparently to make up for lost time. I posted this link to Deadspin on my Timeline the other day, and Mike suggested I intertwine that clip with part of the high-dive scene from the '80s epic coming-of-age movie, Back to School.

So naturally, I did.

Oh, by the way--I haven't made a blog entry in more than two years. Just thought I'd acknowledge that. And for the record, I did finish the 2010 Desert Sprint Triathlon. And did it again in 2011 and 2012.

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.

Was it the TPS Reports ... ?

To quote the indomitable Lloyd Dobler, "I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that."

But I'm open to suggestions. That's because on November 19th I got laid off. I'm actually working until January 15th and I'll get a severance, but it still totally sucks.

Because even when you know it was completely out of your control (damn you, reorganization!), it starts to make you wonder about your worth in the working world.

But my response is, "Fuck that." Because I'm not defined by my job -- any of them. And becuase Liz, being the phenomenal planner that she is,  has already figured out our budget for the next 12 months and things don't look as doom-and-gloom as you might think.

We're going to pull Dash out of daycare, which sucks for him because he has lots of friends introducing him to things we planned to shield him from for at least 2 more years. But this way Liz won't have to stress out about Bakugan, whether he's eating his lunch, if he's behind on learning his ABCs or if one of us will make it in time to pick him up before the daily 6:30 pm deadline.

And the most important thing is that he and I will get some serious dude time -- and that is something that's long overdue for the Engel men. I'm sure we'll be ready to kill each other by the end of each week (day?), but I'm looking forward to it!

Now if I could just figure out what I want to be when I grow up....

And So It Begins -- Again

As I mentioned at the end of my Malibu Triathlon post, my next goal is to complete an entire triathlon. After extensive research -- I'm talking spreadsheets with location, distance, cost, etc. -- I decided on the Toyota Desert Sprint Triathlon in La Quinta, CA on March 7, 2010. It's a 500-meter swim, 14-mile bike ride and 3.1-mile run.

Having recently ridden 18 miles at Malibu, I'm not too concerned about the bike ride, and the house I grew up in had a swimming pool, so the water shouldn't be much of an issue. The running, however, has me a little concerned. About a dozen years ago, I was on my way to becoming an elite marathoner (OK, I never went farther than 4.5 miles, but I coulda been a contender!) but the constant pounding on my joints (namely, my hips) made me stop. But I recently bought a pretty good pair of running shoes, so I'm hoping I'll be OK.

I came up with a 16-week training program, thanks to the good people at BeginnerTriathlete.com, and if you're good at math, you'll know this means my training started today.

I've got a lot of nerve

With fall finally setting in, it has gotten downright cold lately in the evenings. And when you factor in the wind chill ... factor, it's pretty much gotten to the point where I need to start wearing cold-weather gear when I ride. Which I don't have. Nor do I really have extra cash lying around waiting to be spent on "convenience items" like full-fingered gloves or arm warmers. Needless to say, I haven't ridden in nearly two weeks.

But I'm usually not bothered by cold weather, and that's not really the reason I've been off the bike. Ever since I started riding back in June, every so often my left foot would start to go numb mid-ride. I know this is fairly common so I wasn't worried, and "shaking it out" would usually get the blood flowing again. About three weeks ago, I noticed my left big toe had that "pins and needles" feeling while I wasn't riding. And then my right thumb and forefinger starting being tingly, too.

Being a Jewish man, naturally my first thought was "tumor on my spine." But after talking to my neighbor (who is an avid mountain biker) and explaining my symptoms, he deduced I was most likely putting pressure on the nerve at the base of my right hand while riding (he didn't have a theory on the non-riding tingling in the left foot, though) and it was just irritated.

Since I've taken my unexpected break, I have noticed that my fingers and toes seem to be better. So I'll be referring to my neighbor as Dr. Jason from now on. At least until I go to my regular physician and he tells me it's something completely different.

In the meantime, recently I drove one of my (many) riding routes with my video camera, mostly just for shiggles. If you ever get even the slightest amount of motion sickness or you're already feeling a little queasy, then I recommend you do not watch this video. You'll definitely be really sad if you do. In fact, even if you've got an iron constitution, you might want to take some Dramaine or wear one of these.

8 miles @ 120 mph from Josh Engel on Vimeo.

Toe-tally committed

I've spent my entire life as a fan of the California Anaheim Los Angeles Angels major league baseball team, so it was only natural that I pass this unconditional and inexplicable love on to my son.  

I started planting the seed at an age when Dash was barely able to utter "Mama," let alone "2002 World Series Champions." Every time I had him on his changing table, I'd say "Vladimir. Guerrero." Repeatedly. It got to the point where all I'd say was, "Vladimir ...?" and Dash would respond with, "Guh-way-woh."  

In addition to knowing the name of my favorite player, Dash was also familiar with the Angels' color scheme, which might be related to the fact that we hooked him up with an Angels bib, t-shirts, hats and anything else Angels-related. So one day after Liz painted her toenails red, Dash called them "Guerrero toes," and the name stuck. Every time we take a trip to Angels Stadium, Liz puts on her Guerrero toes as a good-luck charm (they haven't lost a game that we've gone to).  

After Saturday night's heartbreaking (and frustrating) loss to the Yankees in Game 2 of the ALCS, I decided it was time to take things to a new level. Ya know, because my actions have a direct impact on the team's performance (don't they?). Needless to say, Dash was a little confused on Sunday when he looked at my feet and saw this:

Memorial Ride of Silence

As you all (all 4 of you) know, I only started riding regularly about 4 months ago. With my job being 40 miles away and family obligations, realistically the only available hours for me to ride are at night. I always wear a helmet, I have two bike lights (front and back) and my cycling shoes have reflective material on them. Whenever possible, I ride on dedicated bike paths,  in the bike lane or the sidewalk in the absence of a bike lane. 

And despite all my precautions and preparations, I ride with a little bit of fear. I only ride routes that I'm familiar with and aren't heavily traveled, but I know all it takes is one car. Or in the case of the Santa Clarita Valley, one monster truck. 

So I felt a sense of obligation when I heard about a Memorial Ride of Silence for Joe Novotny, a local cyclist who was killed by a drunk driver this past summer while riding along a popular cycling route here in the SCV. I don't know any other cyclists in town and I had no idea how many would show up, but I arrived at the designated sign-in area at 7:30 this morning. And I saw cyclists. A lot of them. My guess is around 200, but other estimates put it closer to 300. And I'm pretty sure most of us had never met Joe Novotny.

I always thought of cycling as a solitary sport for loners or those who don't like to be part of a team. Today I was both surprised and humbled by the turnout, and it became very clear to me that cycling is not a solitary endeavor by any means. It is, in fact, a tight knit community that rallies around its comrades. And today that community rode in unison -- for 12 miles in complete silence -- to honor the memory of a fallen member. 

Today I became part of a community, humbled by its commitment to its sport and moved by its dedication to its members.

Malibu Triathlon: The Real Deal

September 13

A co-worker of mine organized our team for the triathlon, and on Friday he sent out an e-mail to everyone that said, "Get a good night's sleep tonight, because tomorrow night you won't." Seeing as he is an accomplished triathlete and marathoner, I figured he knew what he was talking about. So naturally, I got 5 hours (but they were a solid 5 hours) of sleep on Friday night (thanks for the pre-7:00 am wake-up call, Dutch!). What follows is a timeline of my first taste of a triathlon....

4:30 am - alarm goes off
4:57 am - I pull out of the garage to start the 58-mile drive to Malibu
5:02 am - I stop at a gas station to get a bottle of water. I contemplate getting something to eat, but then remember the bathroom stalls at Zuma Beach do not have doors on them.
5:39 am - A calm but concerned e-mail chain starts amongst teammates, as we're all within a few miles of Zuma, but PCH is a virtual parking lot with no alternative
5:49 am - The e-mail exchange continues, getting increasingly less calm and more frantic
6:26 am - I take a chance and park at Malibu High School. I jump on my bike and ride the last 2 miles
6:43 am - Panic starts to set in as our swimmer and I can't find each other. I have her swim cap and transition area bracelet. She is helpless without these two items. Starting/transition area is an absolute madhouse.
6:48 am - We find each other, I give her the cap and bracelet and get my bike racked with about a minute to spare
7:15 am - The race starts! Our information packet says we're in Wave 8. By my math, the 5-minute intervals between waves put our swimmer in the water at about 7:50. She said her goal was 25 minutes, so I tell myself I need to be ready by 8:05 am.
7:51 am - As I'm doing some last-minute tire maintenance, our swimmer, soaking wet and out of breath, runs up and hands me the timing chip. "I'm not ready!" I scream, panicked and completely unprepared. Someone forgot to tell me that the intervals between waves were shorter than 5 minutes.
7:51-7:53 am - I sprint back to our corporate tent, put my shoes on and sprint back to the transition area. No Power Bar consumed, not a single stretch completed. I grab my bike and start a fast walk to the bike mount area.
7:53 am - I'm clipped in and riding in my first triathlon!
8:56 am - I'm off the bike and walking back into the transition area
8:57 am - I look at my Apple iPhone and am shocked when Runkeeper tells me I did 18 miles in 63 minutes
8:58 am - I realize my legs want to fold in half, so I take a load off and continue sweating.


This experience far exceeded my expectations. Four months ago I was probably in the worst shape of my life, and I saw this as an opportunity to motivate and get my body moving again. Over the course of 101 days I went from someone who struggled to go 3 miles to someone who could ride 20 miles with energy to spare. I came up with a training plan, followed it fairly religiously and ended up blowing past both my "realistic" goal of 72 minutes and my "ideal" goal of 70 minutes.

While I was really happy with my performance, I was also really inspired by every person I saw competing. Nobody was judged -- young, old, fat, thin -- it didn't matter. Random people encouraged random people and even though it was technically a race, it didn't feel like a cutthroat competition. 

My one regret was that I was only taking part in one event, but that will change. My training will continue into 2010, but it will include swimming and running. Because in 2010, I'll be entering a triathlon as an individual competitor.

Malibu Triathlon Training: Week 14

Sept. 1 & Sept. 3
This was my second-to-last week of training for the Malibu Triathlon. My original training plan was to go 20 miles three times, but after going the full tri distance of 18 miles on Days 30 & 31 I knew that 20x3 would be too much.

Sept. 1
Having finally found an 18-mile loop that was both logical and relatively close to home, I decided to just stick with it. This ride was pretty uneventful, but I did manage to shave a few seconds off my pace and got it down to 4:15 -- 3 seconds faster than my last 18-miler and 6 seconds faster than the time before that.

Distance: 18.09 miles
Time: 1:16:55
Pace: 4:15




Sept. 3
As I mentioned, 18 miles seemed to be just about all my body could take on one day's rest, and even that was pushing it (are your quads supposed to constantly be sore?!). But according to my schedule, I only had 3-4 more training rides before the triathlon, and there was a training goal I wanted to hit: 20 miles. So despite cringing at the thought of another 18-mile ride in 3 days, I figured it was now or never. With some encouragement from Liz (who has been amazingly supportive throughout this whole process) and the thought of Miles telling Joel, "Every now and then, say 'What the fuck'" running through my head, I decided to go for it.

Instead of trying to come up with some new, crazy, convoluted route that would get me there, I just followed my normal 18-mile loop and took a few scenic detours along the way. By the time I rolled up the driveway and stopped Runkeeper, I was sure I had topped 20 miles. But when I looked and my Apple iPhone, it said I was actually a shade under 18 miles. And the worst part was that it had taken my 1:24:38 -- I felt like I had gone a little slower than usual, but I didn't think I was that far off my usual pace.

Feeling slightly dejected, I went into the house, reported my disappointment to Liz and logged on to the Runkeeper website to survey my ride. When I looked at the map, I realized what had happened: the GPS signal had gotten screwy at around Mile 14, evidenced by the straight line running from Mile 14 to Mile 17, which would've required me to ride over (or through) several buildings and cross two major streets at really odd angles.

I won't get too technical, but I was able to download the data from the website, import it into a different routing program and see that I had, in fact, ridden 19.95 miles! But hey, I'm calling it 20. I probably stopped the timer a second or so before I actually reached my driveway, and for the record, .05 miles is only 264 feet ... OK?!

Distance: 19.95 miles
Time: 1:24:38
Pace: 4:15

I Fell

I do stuff other than ride my bike.

Falling with Style from Josh Engel on Vimeo.