Re-imagining Trihardist

View from a recent ride in Page County, Virginia.

I started this blog mostly because I wanted some cool cycling workouts that I could download and use in workouts that didn't have crappy music and coked-out instructors and didn't cost an arm and a leg. I couldn't find any, so I started making my own. They've been pretty popular over the years, but the whole idea has started to feel dated to me. There are lots of other (and better) options when it comes to structured, guided training for indoor cycling: there's Sufferfest, TrainerRoad, Zwift, Peloton (which seems to have the coked-out instructor vibe going), and plenty of workouts available for free on YouTube. In this crowded marketplace, I feel like my workouts lack utility. There are more and better options now.

This post isn't meant to be a pity party, though. Rather, it's to get feedback from you, my readers and listeners and clients, on what will be edifying for you. I've thought of going in a few different directions:

• I plan to make some free video workouts for distribution on YouTube, in the vein of what I've done before with my audio workouts. I'll also give the option of commissioning custom workouts with your choice of video, music, and programming. For example if you have race course footage that you'd really like to use to prepare, or need something to help motivate you through your toughest coach-assigned workouts, I could make a custom video for you.
• I'd like to do some product reviews, especially of women's kit. There are a few websites, mostly online cycling magazines, in that space, but they mostly seem to cover boutique companies that sell kit in Australia, Europe, and the UK. I haven't found as much that covers cool women's kit in the US. The tough part about getting this going is the high start-up cost. Nice kit is expensive!
• I will eventually use my yoga expertise to make some video classes for cyclists and runners. I think yoga is a great tool to improve performance for endurance athletes.
• I've considered doing a Cycling Maven style vlog (love that guy), but I have a hard time believing anyone thinks I'm interesting enough to want to watch me live life. And I don't like talking about myself. And I have trouble making eye contact with the camera. I suppose these are all things I could overcome, if I get an overwhelming response that says, "Yes, Jamie! We really want to hear about all the mundanities of your life!" Otherwise, I would rather do something more . . . useful (and that's not a dig at the Maven; that guy is awesome, and he has some super useful videos with tips for criterium racing). Besides, every Tom, Dick, and Harry (for some reason, it's mostly men who think that the internet will be interested in what they have to say) is starting a YouTube cycling vlog right now.

Those are the ideas that I have so far. I'll still have my audio workouts available, both the free and paid ones, and will still do custom workouts for anyone who wants them. I'll still do my race reports and general life updates. And I'll still call myself the Trihardist, even though I'm not doing triathlons right now. It's my identity, at this point. Besides, I like the way it sounds.

Anyway, let me know what you think! How can I make myself useful to you?

You can contact me with ideas by leaving a comment on this post; by tweeting @trihardist;by leaving a comment on my Facebook page; by e-mailing me; or by sending a smoke signal, if you live in the DC Metro.

"Runner's High": Beyond Human

First off, watch this:

Michael Phelps beat the world record by a full body length. He took almost 2 seconds off of it. 2 seconds is huge in the world of swimming.

What I really want to talk about, though, is his turns. Look at him come off that wall. Look at the streamlining. Look at the undulation of his body. Take a look at the whole unit. He doesn't look human. But he doesn't look like anything else, either. He doesn't look like a dolphin (or a butterfly), and that's surely the closest thing to which you could compare him. So he's not quite animal.

I think the only thing you can say is that he's beyond human.

And I think we athletes have all experienced this, or can at least all aspire to do so. Have you ever been running and felt like you were flying? Have you ever been cycling and forgot you were even on a bike? Have you ever been swimming and felt almost like you had dissolved into the water? Have you ever forgotten yourself in that moment?

See, I may not be able to do it with as much panache as Michael Phelps. I know I can't (I'm not tall enough). In fact, watching me swim, bike, and run, no one will ever mistake me for anything more than human (except maybe , as some of you have noted, in transition).

But in my mind . . .

In my mind is another matter.

Uphills

About 1/2 a mile from my place of work, there is a hill. Please understand the significance of this statement; I live in central Kansas. This might be the only hill within a 5 mile radius (not including highway on-ramps and the sledding hill in Sedgwick County Park). It's not a particularly big hill or a particularly long hill. But this morning it was enough to set me off. I was driving up this tiny hill after lunch when my mind shot out of my body and onto the race course at Shawnee Mission.

The Shawnee Mission Triathlon bike course is somewhat notorious in these parts, a gruesomely hilly 4.5 mile loop which competitors (on the long course) must repeat four times--a quartet of cardiac-arresting climbs, followed by a brief 1/2 mile of flat terrain before repeating the whole thing. Okay, really it's not that bad. The total elevation gain is like 400-450 feet per loop (1800 total feet climbed), and I've definitely raced more difficult courses than that (Pumpkinman, for one, and soon Wildflower). But it feels like a lot of climbing, especially when you already know what's waiting for you on the next three loops.

All of which is beside the point. Because when I was driving up that teeny tiny baby hill this afternoon, I wasn't thinking about how difficult all that climbing will be, or how much it's going to hurt, or how lame I am for thinking 400 feet of elevation gain is even that much. In that moment, I got that sinking, bubbly feeling in my stomach that's sort of like being slightly too buzzed.

It's the feeling of simultaneously thinking "I can't believe I get to do this again!" and "Why the hell am I doing this again?" It's the same feeling that you have the night/week/month before a race when you know you need to sleep but you can't seem to. It's the feeling that makes you pace and posture and get to transition two and a half hours before the race starts.

It's the feeling that fills port-a-johns.

And it's here, already, more than three months away from Shawnee Mission, still two weeks out from my first race of the season.
I really want this one, guys; it's what it's all about, this year.

"Believing in Belief"

Several things have been brewing in my head for this post: an article by swim coach Richard Quick, an Endurance Planet podcast, a blog post by triathlete Gale Bernhardt . . . consider this post a synthesis of their thoughts and mine.

Have you ever read about the first man to run a mile in less than four minutes? Before Roger Bannister ran his liminal mile, most people--almost everyone, in fact--seriously doubted that it was physically possible. After he broke that barrier, many athletes followed in his footsteps, to the point where running a sub-4-minute mile became almost pedestrian. It was Bannister's belief that carried him beyond the world's assumptions and made him the first.

Not everyone can be a professional athlete; no matter your work ethic, there's a half-dozen genetically-determined and unchangeable variables: muscle type, body composition, VO2 max . . . I would even argue that many professional endurance athletes possess a predisposition for higher tolerance of pain and a stronger sense of discipline . . . what if an extraordinary ability to believe is another difference between the elite and the age grouper? Belief makes the ordinary extraordinary; belief brings commitment; belief gives permission beyond limits; belief will carry an athlete through difficulties and setbacks; belief makes you act as if you cannot fail.

Belief makes the extraordinary ordinary. The success of Roger Bannister gave other athletes permission to believe that running a mile in 3:59 is possible. Before his achievement, the belief was visionary; now it's mundane, because it's fact. His accomplishment--which began with his belief--actually expanded the cultural perception of what is normal and ordinary! Wouldn't it be great to be a person who breaks that kind of barrier?

Belief brings commitment. Roger Bannister didn't run just one mile; I mean, he ran the famous one, but he ran countless others before that. He sacrificed. He reached new levels of physical pain. He restructured his life (he wasn't a pro athlete, by the way; he was a recreational runner) to give him an appropriate amount of time to train. He committed a huge chunk of his life to this goal, because he knew it was attainable--not just theoretically, but personally; there was no reason to half-ass it. It wasn't only something that his coach or his parents or his nation wanted (although they all did); no one thought it was possible, and if he hadn't initially believed himself capable of running the fastest mile ever, his culture never would have expected and demanded that he achieve it. His belief initiated the pursuit for the goal; he was committed before anyone else was.

Belief gives permission beyond limits. Roger Bannister wasn't waiting for someone to say he should or could; he wasn't waiting for someone else to break the barrier. In fact, he was committed to breaking the 4-minute record before anyone else could (there were two other men pusuing the same goal simultaneously). And many saw the 4-minute barrier as a natural limit: 4 minutes, 4 laps around the track . . . it seemed perfect. Bannister disregarded that idea of a natural order; he knew he could run a mile faster than that, and he set out to do it. His own belief allowed him to overlook any so-called limits.

Belief carries an athlete through difficulties and setbacks. Bannister didn't run a sub-4-minute mile the first time he tried. In fact, there were several races and events which were orchestrated specifically to help him break 4 minutes, times when all the world watched and waited thinking, "This'll surely be the time." He failed multiple times, at international events, and small-town races, even with other athletes pacing him. He failed. He failed, he failed, he failed. And in the face of discouragement, he continued his training with a singular aim, and continued to participate in meets and events; his belief did not allow him to look at himself and think, "Well, I guess that's it. I gave it everything, and it wasn't enough." It carried him through the profoundest discouragement--failure.

Belief makes you act as if you cannot fail.

Let's apply. What is an extraordinary goal for you? What's something on the outside edges of what (in your mind) is possible for you? For some, the idea of even finishing a triathlon is an extraordinary goal. I coach one woman for whom swimming 25 yards is mentally inconceivable. Maybe you have an inkling that you could run a marathon in under 3 hours. Maybe you secretly believe that you could get first place in your A-priority race this season. Maybe you dream of swimming the English Channel. Or maybe it's something completely unrelated to performance. Whatever it is, allow yourself to fully define your goal; I would bet that most of you have a little thought niggling at the corners of your brain. Mine says, "Know what? I bet you can get 1st in your age group at Shawnee Mission." Invite that thought into center stage in your mind and take a good long look at it.

What's your first reaction to that goal/dream/desire? Maybe that it's not realistic. It's a pipe dream. It's never going to happen.

Psh. Why isn't it going to happen? Is it because you're not genetically pre-disposed to win first place at a major race? Or because you didn't learn to swim until you were 37 years old? Check this out:

How could Dara Torres--at age 33 and having been out of swimming for seven years--return to the sport in 2000 after only 14 months of training and swim significantly faster than ever before in each of her events, setting tow American records and taking five Olympic medlas (two of them gold on world-record relays)?
How could American 200-meter butterflyer Misty Hyman drop from 2:09.2 (her lifetime best) at the 2000 Olympic trials to 2:05.88 just 30 days later to beat world-record holder and defending Olympic champion Susie O'Neill, breaking O'Neill's six-year winning streak in the 200 butterfly?
-Quick, Richard. "Believing in Belief." The Swim Coaching Bible. Human Kinetics: 2001.

That's right! Belief! And you may not be a world-class 200 meter butterfly specialist, or a former Olympian, but you are capable of the same kind of belief that drove these athletes to do what was extraordinary for them. Know what? No matter how exceptional the physiology, dropping almost 4 seconds from a swimming PR is extraordinary. And coming back to the Olympics to win big after a seven-year hiatus is extraordinary. For you, extraordinary will look different (for one thing, if you're an age-grouper, you should damn well be able to drop a lot more than 4 seconds from your swim time!), but it is no less extraordinary, and it is no less achievable.

So look back over this post and ask some questions. I look forward to hearing what happens from there.

Psyched Out

Here's a first: I'm already nervous about Wildflower.

Which is in May.

Whoo! This is gonna be an intense season!

So What's the Plan, Stan?

With my first half marathon under my feet and the Genesis Multisport Club going strong, it's time to turn my attention to my second (third?) triathlon season. I feel like I've got a really good handle on how to plan a season, how to periodize my training, and how to get the most out of myself, so the prospect of looking forward is downright thrilling.

A new season . . . a new chance to prove ourselves. Anyone else feel like they have to rein themselves in, this time of year? We've just gotten past the ITU and Ironman world championships; we've seen the best of the best do their best against each other on some of the toughest courses around. And they make it look so darn easy! I watch Sam McGlone powering through mile 20 of her marathon, her arms and legs swinging easily along, one foot in front of the other, and I think, "I could do that."

It's disorienting when I actually get out on the track (or treadmill) and realize that, even though I feel as good as she looks while running, I'm setting a 9:20 pace. Which is nowhere close to the 7:00-minute miles I would probably need to clock if I were to get anywhere near the top spots in a sizable race; I just don't have the kind of speed to be on the podium.

But as I go into a time of recovery this off-season, the back of mind is whirring like the cogs in a tiny, homemade clock. Now if I just base build here and start my speed work here . . . if I really work on technique . . . if I buy a new bike and really put in those long hours . . .

The impossible suddenly seems achievable.

With that in mind, I have this crazy, empty-headed notion that this year I'm going to be competitive. This year I'm taking my hopes beyond Oh God I hope I can finish this thing, which is what I experienced in my first (and only) Olympic distance. This year, I have the knowledge, commitment, and desire to take my training and racing to the next level. And if that's not enough, then it will provide that much more fuel for the 2009 season.

As to the brass tacks . . .
April 22 - Spring Migration Tri (super sprint, priority C)
May 5 - Wildflower (Olympic or half, I haven't decided yet, priority B)
June 3 - Flint Hills Tri (Olympic, priority B)
June 16 - Topeka Tinman (Olympic, priority A)
July 1 - Town and Country Tri (super sprint, priority C)
July 18 - Shawnee Mission ("Long," priority A)
July 28 - Mudwater (sprint, priority A)
August 11 - Salty Dogs (super sprint, priority C)
August 25 - Splash 'n' Dash (super sprint, priority C)
September 9 - Midwest Meltdown (Olympic, priority B)
September 22 - OKC Redman (Half Iron, priority B)

That's a lot of races for one year, and I'm sure--absolutely positive!--I'll pare it down. For one thing, it'll probably be too darn expensive to do all of them (my spreadsheet tells me almost $800 just in entry fees). But I love racing, I want to do as much of it as I can, and this plan is only tentative anyway.

Pre-Race Jitters

My next race is still a month away. Isn't it a little early for me to be having nightmares about the race?

Here was my dream. I was at a major triathlon, finally. Some of the competitors were staying in an elementary school gymnasium to save on a hotel. But it was really, really packed. Like cattle in stalls. Or . . . no, actually, I think the gym was part of a transition area. We had to run into the gym and get the stuff we needed for the bike, then run back out to our bikes and take off from there. Our running shoes were in a big pile across from the bike racks. And this was the race in which I wanted to be really competitive. But it didn't start well. I was warming up my swim in the lap pool (may have even been in the gym...) to, well, get warm, but also to check and make sure that my goggles (which I slammed in my car door at Lake Afton last week) still sealed properly. Good timing, right before the race start, right? And I only did one, 25-yard lap, which is a stupidly short warm up. Then I got out and wanted to change for the start of the race. Moments before the race starts, I'm not in my race kit. I'm wearing a swimming suit, nothing else. So I started pulling on my race kit over the swimming suit, and said casually to another competitor, "This is a great sport for buying tons of clothes, eh?" because I was wearing like four different layers at this point. Not only did she not laugh at my joke, she looked at me and suggested that I leave a couple layers behind. Then went off to the starting line. So I vacillated for a few minutes, taking things halfway off, pausing and saying, "No! I don't have time to change!" and putting them back, then repeating.

Jump to right after the swim. I come out of the water in good position. Not first, by any means, but towards the front of the pack. I sit by my transition area and start gathering the things I'll need for my bike. I dash out there, wanting to do this awkward transition as quickly as possible, sit and put my shoes on, and realize something terrible: Not only have I grabbed someone else's shoes, they don't even match; I have two different shoes, neither of which are mine. I run back in and start looking for my shoes. And now some really slow people are starting to pass me. Fat, awkward people are wheeling their bikes out of T1. I'm going to have to make up a ridiculous amount of time on the bike. And I can't locate my shoes, still! By the time I finally find them, upside down, with the pedals attached to them, for some reason. I am the very last one out of transition. And one of the race directors comes over to ask me if everything's okay (and at this point, for some reason, I seem to be wearing blue jeans and have to strip back down to my tri shorts). I explain that I grabbed the wrong pair of shoes. And then I wake up.

I tell myself that it's okay, it's just a dream. I remind myself that swimming, biking, and running are not the only things being tested come race day; it's also a test of how well you can prepare and how well you can react to shifting and challenging circumstances. And then I sit down to write it out, because it was so frightening and unpleasant.

By the way, Zach, my former team captain, was sort of present and in the background in full USC Tri Team regalia the whole time. Not sure what that means . . .

Dreams

This afternoon I took a nap, and while sleeping, I dreamed that I went for a jog around USC's campus. And after a few minutes' running, I decided that if I was running, I might as well run really, really fast. I leaned over and let my stride stretch out behind me, and flew over the ground so fast that my eyes could barely register the terrain beneath me. I ran around students and over benches and up stairs, all with the grass blurring under my feet. The feeling of the wind rushing past me and the sheer exultation of moving so quickly left me feeling fresh and energized, if winded. And I had never gone so fast!

Not a bad way to start off a recovery week.