I Am Half Iron

I am cursed.  I just can't sleep.  I fall asleep no problem these days, despite the enormous state of finding myself in a transitional state.  But I don't stay asleep.  One might think that after competing in a 1/2 Ironman event, I would sleep like a log.  Rachel asked me last night if I was going to sleep in today.  "I wish..." I responded, longingly.  Sure enough I was up at 4:30 this morning, which is even earlier than usual when I don't have my alarm set.  What a waste of a triathlon.  The least I could have gotten out of it was a good night's sleep!

So here's the recap of Syracuse 70.3...

I was up at only a slightly earlier 4AM on Sunday morning.  Actually, that's when the alarm on my iPhone rang, but I had already woken up on my own about 5 or 6 minutes earlier.  I ate my bagel and banana, drank a bit, covered myself in body glide and got dressed.  I was surprisingly calm.  I woke Rachel at 4:45 and by 5:15 we abandoned our hotel room for the parking garage.  The girls were still sleeping in the room next door with my in-laws, who were kind enough to let them stay in their room.  The lady inside the GPS barked out directions, but even at that hour we were able to just follow the crowd.  We parked and schlepped all my stuff towards the transition area.

As we approached, I was stopped by a pink-shirted volunteer who marked my body with my number, 716, in permanent marker.  I made my way to my spot in transition and set up my stuff in my typical orderly, anal manner.  I tracked down Rachel and we headed down to the waterfront.  I asked one of the volunteers if she knew the water temperature and she reported that it was 75.1 degrees. 

Crap!  Now I was going to have to make a decision.  At 76.1 degrees, wetsuits become illegal.  Just the day before the water temperature reached into the 80s.  So it's obvious.  Wear the wetsuit.  Right?  Not so easy.  As I learned from Coach Dan, wearing a full body wetsuit in water that hovers close to the wetsuit illegal temperature can cause an athlete to overheat, thereby destroying his race.  I didn't want that to happen.  On the other hand, the buoyancy offered by my wetsuit gives me a heightened level of comfort in the water and allows me to swim faster.  I put my feet in the water.  It was definitely warm enough to swim without.  But as I looked around, it became clear that virtually every athlete was wearing a wetsuit, though some with a sleeveless suit, helped prevent overheating.  I made my final decision.  I would wear the wetsuit.  When I saw Coach Dan a few minutes later, he told me that I made the right decision.  Phew!

Per Coach Dan's suggestion, I put my face in the water and swam easy for a few minutes.  The water was a bit murky.  Even right near the beach, I couldn't see a thing.  That made me a little nervous, but after a few breathes I found my stroke.

Now it was time to wait.  The race started at 7, but the swimmers would be sent in waves.  Pros first, and them age groupers.  Men 35-39 whose last names start in the first half of the alphabet would be sent off at 7:35.  So, as I predicted, the pros were out of the water before I got into the water.

7:20
7:25
7:30

My wave was next.  My family came down near the beach to see me off.  I did what I could to stay calm.  I hung out at the back of the group, knowing that I was a particularly slow swimmer. 

90 seconds. 

I looked back and waved to my family.

60 seconds.

I waved again.

30 seconds.

I gave them a thumbs up.

10 seconds. 

I put my finger on my watch's start button.

GO!!!

Well, my start wasn't as dramatic as those you might see on television.  I didn't dive into the water enthusiastically.  I didn't sprint until I was too deep to run.  Instead, I casually waded my way into chest deep water, allowing the faster swimmers to pass, and then I put my face in the water and I swam.  And I swam some more.  I noticed something I've never experienced before.  I passed people in the water.  I noticed a few who were stopped dead in their tracks, looking nervous, trying to collect themselves.  I felt for them but I was relieved that I wasn't in that position.  And maybe a little surprised.  I swam a pretty straight line from buoy to buoy.  I felt that I was swimming easy, never pushing myself.  That was basically my plan.  I did feel my body heat up quite a bit in that full-body wetsuit and took the opportunity to stretch open the neck a few times to let the water in.  Instant relief.

I've read all sorts of accounts and advice regarding mid-race urination.  Most of them just don't fly with me.  My mother raised me to be, well, a bit OCD.  When I traveled in Egypt with my parents, my mom became quite dehydrated one day because she refused to drink so that she wouldn't have to use the public bathrooms.  I'm not much different, though a bout with salmonella while traveling in Europe and Morocco when I was a college student taught me how to make an exception in an emergency.  There are, indeed, porta-potties along the route for people like me.  For others, well, tri shorts have an absorbent chamois.  I did figure, however, that a "natural break" towards the end of the swim would be borderline acceptable.  In fact, I saw a number of swimmers just hovering towards the end of the swim whom, I imagined, were doing just that.  I gave it a go.  I really did.  I just couldn't do it.  It's just something I'll have to work out with a shrink one day. 

Along the way I wondered what my time would be when I entered transition 1.  I guessed close to 50 minutes.  Slow but sure.  When I took my first steps onto dry land and saw 43 minutes and change on my watch, I was stunned.  I swam the 1.2 miles at about 2:02/100 yards, which was much faster than I had been swimming lately.  And without pushing.  Ironman results gave me my proper time, but miscalculated my pace.  How dare they!  I'll be happy to teach them the math.

The run to transition was long.  I took it easy, as Coach Dan suggested.  "You went under 45!" my father-in-law shouted, clearly sharing my excitement.  "You want help?" shouted a couple volunteers.  "You bet," I responded.  I laid down on the grass, raised my legs in the air, and a split second later they had me successfully divorced from my wet wetsuit.  I found my bike, calmly put on my helmet and sunglasses, socks and cycling shoes, downed an energy gel and a gulp of water and ran my bike to the exit.  I mounted my bike, kicked off a water bottle onto the ground, silently cursed my clumsiness and hit the 56 mile hilly course.

I have to tell you, I was intimidated by this course.  After a flat mile, the elevation profile showed the next 10 or 11 miles going straight up.  From there on it all looks basically downhill, but Coach Dan warmed me that there would be more steep hills, just not as long.  The plan was to ride a controlled race, pushing my power at a designated wattage range, and closely monitoring the heart rate.  I kept my power within my zone, being cautious not to ride too high above that level in the hills.  My heart rate was higher than it was supposed to be.  That's what my computer said, anyhow.  My body didn't believe it.  I just never felt like I was working as hard as my displayed heart rate indicated.  So I continued to stay within my power zone.  Those first 12 miles were relatively slow on account on the extended climbing.  But things sped up significantly once I reached mile 12.  I wanted to achieve an average of at least 20MPH.  I don't know why.  Just because.  In the end I averaged about 20.5 MPH with a lot more to give.  Rachel asked me later in the day if I was having fun because, she said, I had a huge smile on my face as I rode into transition 2.  My only mistake during the bike, which could have been disastrous, was that I didn't take in quite enough fluid.  That will haunt me later in the day.

Transition 2 was quick.  I jumped off my bike, removed my helmet and shoes, threw on my running shoes and visor, downed another energy gel and a swig of water and off I went, feeling great.  I felt great heading into the run and through the first couple of miles.  It was getting hot out and I took fluid at ever aid station and tried to stay focused.

And then we hit the hills.  I made the elevation profile for the bike out to be more than it was in the end, and I did just the opposite for the run.  As headed downhill, the monster in front of me seemed to grow with every step.  I saw a long line of people.  Walking.  I would not walk.  I refused to walk.  It was steep and hard and it sucked and I wanted to throw up.  I slowed down.  A lot.  But I did not walk.  Then I turned right where the course flattened out, before it turned skywards once again as it lead us to the turn around.  I got to the turnaround and told myself to forget about these last 2 hills into I was forced to conquer them once again. 

Just past the bottom of those hills was a wonderful neighbor who was spraying suffered athletes with her hose.  Thank you!  Relief.  But brief.  And just a little bit down the road from there was the next aid station which had, in addition to aid, freezing cold wet sponges.  That was the greatest blessing!  Only, I think the cold water did something funny to my heart rate monitor because for the remainder of the run my heart rate was hovering between 0 BPM and about 70.  Add nearly 100 to that last number and we're talking business!  I made my way back to the transition area where I would see my family once again before setting out on my final 6.6 miles.  "How ya doin'?" Rachel asked.  "Hurting," was all I could muster.  I was dreading these final miles.

I finally arrived at the foot of Mt. Everest again, intent on scaling it's face in a run-ish.  Turnaround and down the hill.  That's when, after 65 miles of racing alone, another athlete decided to strike up a conversation  I wasn't really in the mood for conversation, but I did my best to be friendly.  Turns out that Matt from Boston was a bit faster than me.  I sped up a bit to stay with him for a few 100 meters, but I knew it wouldn't be long before he and I parted ways.  "Have a good finish," I bid him.  "I hope so," he responded, and then slowed down a notch to stay with me.  We headed down the steeped part of the decline and I flew past him.  Not intentionally.  I simply had so little muscle control at that point that if I didn't just let my legs go with gravity, I would have had to work too hard to slow myself down.  Sure enough Matt passed me once the road flatted out.

Cold wet sponges again.  Thank you, God.  Or whatever the volunteers name is who handed me the sponges.  Time to finish this thing.  Somewhere between 1 and 2 miles from the finish, someone scrawled on the road in chalk, "Last hill."  I was plenty relieved to be get that behind me.  I made my way towards the transition area where spectators lined the course.  I could see the finish line and I picked up the pace as much as I could.  I could see my family ahead in their neon green "Team Pig Vomit" t-shirts.  I waved.  I sprinted.  I smiled.  I raised my arms and I grabbed a bottle of water from a volunteer.  And a bottle of chocolate mile from another.  Matt from Boston was near the finish line and he shook my hand, wishing me well.  I saw Coach Dan just beyond the finish line and checked in with him.  And then I found Rachel.  A minute later the rest of the family caught up with us and Coach Dan asked us to get together for a picture.  I gave Rachel a big, tight, sweaty hug and smiled big, telling Coach Dan that I'd pay for that later.  "You earned it!" he said.

I grabbed the worst piece of pizza I've ever had from the athlete's lounge and threw half of it away.  And after a while we made our way back to the parking lot.  We loaded the cars and headed home, Rachel driving, me barely conscious in the passengers seat.  After 20 minutes or so I started to feel not so good.  The nausea was building and the world was spinning.  I couldn't close my eyes and I couldn't keep them opened.  1 closed and 1 shut minimized the dizziness just a touch and then I made Rachel pull over.  After 10 minutes at the side of the New York State Thruway, my stomach settled just enough to get some Gatorade into my body.  The more electrolytes I ingested, the better I felt.  When I finally finished the bottle, I felt like myself again, albeit tired and sore. 

In the end, I couldn't be any happier.  Without fully knowing what to expect, I was really hoping to finish in a hair under 6 hours, and I finished in 5 hours 23 minutes and 10 seconds.

Hmmmm.....  Maybe next year I can break 5 hours...

So, 1 Ironman 70.3 down, I'm not yet an Ironman, but I am 1/2 iron.

Come On Baby, Do the Locomotion

It's race week.  This Sunday will be my first real test as I hit the Ironman Syracuse course for a 1/2 Iron distance event- 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, 13.1 mile run.  Years of experience in running and biking races tells me that I'll be pretty nervous.  In fact, I'm a bit anxious right now.  Those nerves tend to settle as soon as the gun goes off, though the swim certainly doesn't make me any calmer.  One way or another I intend to keep moving forward and get myself across the finish line.

It's been a frustrating few weeks for me in the water.  Intent on improving my swim, I found myself moving slower and slower.  No matter how much effort I put forth, I have been moving at a snail's pace.  I look at those in the lanes beside me who propel themselves through the water so effortlessly with awe.  And resentment.  At least I'll have the comfort of swimming in my wetsuit which provides both a sense of security, as it offers a tremendous amount of buoyancy, and speed.

Or will I?

It seems the recent warm weather has heated up the lake and the water temperature sits just on the edge of wetsuit legal.  So I guess it's best to prepare myself for the possibility of a 1.2 mile open water swim without my slick black neoprene water wings. 

I've learned, just this week, not to over-think things.  I've been trying so hard to swim faster that I have over analyzed every aspect of my form.  I have read countless articles and tried to implement so many tweaks that I have turned myself into a much less efficient swimmer.  If you're a golfer you know what I'm talking about.  Just yesterday I decided to forget everything I learned on the internet over the past few weeks and just swim like I knew how just a month ago.  To my great relief I was swimming 10-15 seconds faster per 100 yards.  I'm back, baby!  So when I get to the water's edge on Sunday, I'm going to try not to over-think things.  I've swam the distance and beyond many times.  It should be no problem.  I'll tell myself to just put my face in the water and keep moving forward.

The bike should be my strongest leg.  But it sure ain't gonna be easy.  Just look at the elevation profile to see how the 56 mile leg starts off: http://ironmansyracuse.com/files/2010/09/Syracuse_BikeElevation_2012.pdf.  I know the important thing to remember is to ride my own race.  I'm strong in the hills.  As long as I'm alive and conscious, I plan on making constant forward progress no matter how steep the road becomes.

It is the run that will be the true test of both strength and will.  It's a double out-and-back course which should be great for spectators, but that little bump in the middle promises to taunt and humble me, twice: http://ironmansyracuse.com/files/2010/09/Syracuse_RunElevation_2012.pdf.  I'm sure the directors of Ironman events have seen it all.  Or at least they've seen a lot.  Why else would they implement the following rule for the run portion of the race: No form of locomotion other than running, walking or crawling is allowed.  I can accept walking.  But I sure hope I'm not reduced to crawling.  And then I think the Ironman race directors are too strict.  Or narrow-minded.  What about rolling?  Or hopping?  Or cartwheeling, or somersault or skipping?   I'd sure hate to be disqualified if exhaustion reduces me to a mere saunter or mosey. 

I'm over-thinking again.  God, just get me to the start line and, one way or another I'll get myself across the finish line.

Wish me luck.  I'll need it!

I'll try and post a link later this week that will allow you to track my progress online as I mosey my way to 1/2 Ironman glory!

A Public Service Announcement- The Danger of Smartphones

What I am about to share with you is 100% true.  My story is not fabricated or embellished for literary impact.  What I will share with you is an actual account of events that finally made me fully appreciate the danger of smartphones if not used, well, smartly. 

This is how I recall events transpiring at the end of last week.

I've been distracted lately.  I have a lot going on in my life.  Besides for my usual family and professional obligations, and this year add to that my training commitments, I am wrapping up a 9-year tenure as rabbi at my current synagogue.  That alone brings quite an emotional response.  So now I find myself trying to finalize plans for the next stage in my professional life, selling a house, packing a house, buying a house, moving (and all the emotion these developments bring to a family), the beginning of my racing season and my first ever triathlons, and finally, this small thing called the Ironman in just over 3 months. 

Recently, two children of friends were confronted with health concerns more severe than the common cold.  I had just received an email from one of these friends who was offering an update about his daughter, who was admitted to the hospital.  At that moment, my concern for her well being was all that existed in my closed little world. 

I was at the gym when I received the email.  I had dropped my firstborn daughter for her tennis class and I was walking to the locker room to change into my swim suit for a training swim.  Many of us have had those moment when, with our gaze averted towards our smartphones, we've failed to see the oncoming hazards before us.  When I was hit from behind at a stop light last year, I was convinced the driver was texting because I sat at the light for a good 10 seconds before I felt the impact.  It wasn't as if I stopped suddenly, leaving her insufficient time to react.  And so, as I walked through the gym responding to my friend who was in crisis mode, I had no sense of the world around me.

It's been said that a victim senses impending doom a split second before traumatic incidents.  As I sat in the driver's seat awaiting a green light, I looked into my rear-view mirror only long enough to know that I was about to be hit.  And barely a fraction of a moment before I walked into the locker room, a dreadful sense of foreboding came over me.  In the deepest recesses of my heart, I knew with certainty something wasn't quite right.  That's when I looked up to see a woman standing at the mirror frantically pointing me back towards the door.

If you've ever jumped in freezing water, or witnessed an accident as it unfolded, or saw a child teeter on the edge and fall from the highest rung of a jungle gym, you know what it means to gasp viscerally and literally lose your breath.  That's what I did in the very moment that I realized that I had walked straight into the women's locker room.

Fortunately for the women in the locker room at that time, I didn't see anything that the walls were meant to shield, but unfortunately for me, I lost my pride and deflated my ego as I retreated in panic.  Mortified.  This IronJew quickly melted into a pile of humiliated goo.  I quickly ducked into the men's locker room, removed the hat from upon my head and changed my t-shirt.  I wasn't sure how else to mask my appearance.  If I had a beard, I would have shaved it.  After hiding in the pool for 40 minutes, I sat in the darkest corner of the gym until my daughter's tennis class ended, at which point we made a break for the door and I drove home without once looking back.

Technology is both a wonderful and a horrible thing.  It makes our lives more efficient and allows us to do things we never before thought imaginable, unless, of course, you grew up on the Jetsons.  But technology also has a way of taking us out of the real world and away from reality.  Sometimes we're so engrossed in our whatevers that we don't even see the world before us.  So I beseech you, don't let yourself become another casualty of the dangers of the smartphone.  God forbid you should experience what I have and be, forever, traumatized by the curses of the blessings of technology. 

No irony, of course, that this posting, and in fact, this entire blog, was made possible by the gift of modern technology. 

Take My Breath Away

Triathlon season is upon us and the source of my anxiety is soon to be realized.  A year ago I couldn't swim.  The human body with air in its lungs is buoyant, so I could float.  And flail.  But that was about it.  I've learned to swim sufficiently, albeit slowly.  I'm not planning on breaking any water speed records.  I just need to get from point A, well, back to point A again.

With the weather warming up and races upcoming, the time to get open water experience has arrived.  So I met Coach Dan at Canandaigua Lake to get a couple lake swims under my belt recently.  I managed to wriggle into my wetsuit.  Somehow, every other triathlete out there looks more impressive in a wetsuit than I do.  I think I probably just looked awkward.  I was anxious to swim in the wetsuit, however.  Triathlon wetsuits provide added buoyancy that make it practically impossible to sink, and because they force the athlete to sit higher up in the water, the allow the athlete to swim faster.  But they also provide a comforting degree of warmth in otherwise uncomfortably cold water.  Swimming the buoys and back again at Kershaw will take me nearly a mile.  I've got this.

I walk in the water up to me knees.  Coach Dan gives me a few tips.  I jump in and off I go.  Only, I can't breathe.  At all.  I think I'm having a panic attack.  The last 10 months of training flashes before my eyes.  "I can't do this," I tell myself.  I can barely swim 3 strokes without thinking I'm going to suffocate.  How am I going to swim 1.2 miles in the Syracuse 1/2 Ironman, and 2.4 miles in Madison.  I'll fake an injury, I think.  Maybe I'll be lucky enough to suffer a real injury, I hope.  I can't tell people that I panicked and chickened out.  I've already raised more than $15,000 of other people's money.

I stand up and catch my breath.  I ask Dan a question I didn't really have.  I take a deep breath.  I compose myself.  And I go.  And I go.  And I go.  And it's okay.  Granted, my navigational sense in the open water can use some refining.  As you can see from the GPS tracks below, I took a bit of a turn off course until I finally figured out that I was headed in the wrong direction.

I stopped a few times along the way to speak to Coach Dan and get his continued guidance and I made it back to shore without any more incidents.

On my way back to Canandaigua early yesterday morning, I recalled a brief conversation I had with my 8-year old daughter, Talia.  She wanted to go for a swim last weekend.  I told her that the pool was broken and the water was way too cold.  She protested that it was hot out and she didn't care how cold the water was, to which, I responded that super cold water was dangerous for swimming and made the simple task of breathing difficult.  It then occurred to me that my earlier "panic attack" may have just been the shock of the cold water taking my breath away.  So I vowed to let the water into my wetsuit before I started swimming this time.

And so I did.  Sure enough, the shock of the cold water sucked the breath out of my lungs.  After a few seconds, the torture passed, I put my head in the water and swam my mile straight crooked without incident. 

Sometimes, all it takes to solve problems is discovering their true source so one knows how best to confront them.  And what a boost for confidence to learn that my panic attack was no panic attack at all.  It was merely a brief sting of cold suffered especially by those, like me, who are truly "fickly"!