Talking Power

Clean and Ready to Roll

With the start of training season, that means it is time to set base lines. Or more specifically, time to test current fitness levels in order to set training zones and target where I need to improve. Last night was the first of those tests, the infamous bike FTP test. The FTP, or Functional Threshold Power is a number that, in theory at least, an athlete can maintain for an hour without going into the zones where your muscle begin to accumulate lactate.

As a triathlete, I target about 80% of that FTP number as my average power output for a long course race. For sprint courses, I’ll go at or above 100% of that number, because it’s “only” a 5k run off the bike :), but I never claimed that I race sprints “smart”.

For this year, I decided to use Zwift’s workout mode to test it, and to run a comparison with both power meters running at the same time. They produced similar numbers, so for the future, I will likely rely on the trainer numbers, which with Zwift came out very close to what was expected.

The number for the test came up at 237 watts as my FTP, which is fine, but invariably, people get an FTP and immediately want to start comparing their numbers to mine. Don’t do it, it is a comparison that means absolutely nothing, because watts produced is only a small part of the picture. IF you must compare something, the number you would want to compare is watts per kilogram, because that is a far more accurate indicator of strength.

Looking at it that way, I am an almost 200b male (195 lbs. November and December were not good months for my weight). Converted to kilograms, that is about 88.5kg. 237 watts divided by 88.5 kilograms, gives you a number that has some meaning, roughly 2.7 watts/kg. To put that into some perspective, Andrew Coggan put together a chart of how W/kg numbers compare, and it is largely accepted as the baseline. PowerProfile Looking at that chart, what you will quickly see is that my numbers puts me firmly into the “Fair” grouping.

If I want to improve that number I need to improve my W/kg. That becomes an interesting balance of work. Let’s say I want to climb into that “Moderate” group. That would require an increase to a 3.25 W/kg. In order to get there without changing my weight, I would need to pick up an additional 50 watts. Those kinds of gains are unreasonable in a single season, so that really is not a realistic goal. Looking at weight though, could that help?

If you figure 1 kilogram is 2.2 pounds, then getting back to my race weight from the end of last summer of 180 lbs, would put me at 81.7 kg. Now all of the sudden a 3.25 W/kg is an FTP of 266 watts, only a 30 point jump, which is still a massive uptick for someone with a decent base of fitness, but 20 points is probably in reach, which would be roughly 3.1 W/kg, or right at the bridge between Fair and Moderate. Considering my size and age, that is probably nearing the upper limits of where pure power training will get me.

Everything else becomes about riding the bike, learning to use the terrain to my advantage, good aero and body positions and proper nutrition, because at the end of the day, you cannot overpower bad form, bad nutrition or poor bike skills out not he course.

This season, I will be posting my progress on my improvements, and talking about some of the tools, because the biggest lesson I took away from last year was that triathlon success, be it finishing, hitting a time goal, or a podium is all built on the training.

The Offseason is Over

Hiking @ Vogel State Park

Hiking @ Vogel State Park

Well, the new year also means that there offseason is officially over. It is now time to get back into gear, and get back to serious training.

Personally, I always find the period from Thanksgiving through New Years to be the hardest time to keep a consistent routine. It is a time when food, particularly, junk food, is constantly in reach, and the time when I usually train is consumed by time with extended family and friends that I don’t get to see most of the year.

This year, I tried something different, and I think it worked fairly well.

Instead of trying to stay on a regimented plan, I simply set a base goal. Workout for at least 30 minutes 6 days a week. Workouts could be a run, a swim (not), core, or a bike ride. Included in the workout categories for the offseason were hikes, walking round of golf, and even casual jogs. Basically, anything that would elevate the heart rate.

The intent? minimize the fitness loss while allowing the unstructured weeks to flow around the light schedule. The result? I feel fresher than I have in months, and ready to jump back into the saddle, both figuratively and literally.

Live every day

(In avoidance of confusion, this is Scott, not Dru)

Thursday I gave the eulogy at my mother in law’s funeral. Last Christmas, she was diagnosed with a brain tumor, but responded well to radiation and chemo. On the Friday of my Ironman weekend, my MIL went to the ER with a fever caused by a perforation in her large intestine. On Friday, I asked my wife if she wanted me to come home. “I am not dong the training for this again and I am not paying for this again. Finish what you started. You add no medial value.” She was right. I had an amazing weekend and was with her on Monday night. My MIL got better, but never “well” and a sequence of infections and tumor related seizures left her in a state where she would not recover. She now resides with Love everlasting.

I am proud of my eulogy. It is from the heart and I wrote and rewrote it many times prior to the funeral. I struggled to get through reading it at the funeral, ultimately reading without looking at my family. Someone asked if I would share it (a nice compliment) so I’ll share it. I think it is a good testimony to a legacy of love.

Let me say it out loud. This sucks. When I was 13 my grandfather died after a battle with lung cancer. That night after we got the phone call from Louisville to Atlanta, I went to homecoming. Friends asked me if I was ok, I was fine. Paw Paw was a good man who raised my amazing father, but I did not know him that well. He lived in Louisville, I lived in Atlanta. For my children, November 29, 2015 sucked. They are not ok. Mary Pitman did not live in Louisville she lived here, in our lives, everyday and we loved it.

Rachel and I are very fortunate to have raised our children within 10 mile of my parents, as well as Mary. My children’s grandparents are integral pieces of their lives. We are so very lucky. Mary attended every event in the lives of my children, my family. We have been so very blessed. It is this blessing that makes today so much harder.

Each of you here celebrates one or more moments of joy and love as a direct result of Mary’s earthly journey. We celebrate hundreds. Some of you may not know Mary that well, but rather you are here to support Rachel or Ben, one of Mary’s amazing grandchildren or myself. If so, you are still celebrating Mary’s love as it has been shared generationally.

The first time I met Mary, Rachel and I had been dating a few months. As all of you know, Auburn University and Auburn football are recipients of Mary’s love. Rachel had invited me over to watch the National Championship Sugar Bowl between Alabama and Miami in January of 1993 with her family. I was raised on college basketball and knew little about the passions of Southern football. As we watched the game, I started cheering for Alabama. When Mary asked what I was doing, I told her simply that Miami was a suburb of New York and I was cheering for the true Southern team. Mary said, “we don’t cheer for Alabama in this house.” I replied, “I don’t cheer for Northern teams.” And, as it happens, the first day I met my future mother-in-law, she kicked me out of the house. Neither of us would give in.

As time passed, I ended up loving her Auburn, her daughter and her. When Rachel and I were planning our wedding, I again saw the depth and passion of her love. As the mother of the bride, Mary took her role seriously. She and Jon were happy to pay for their daughter’s wedding. When meeting with the reception facility, I started to argue price items. Mary told me simply, “I have worked and saved for this wedding. Shut up, you are not paying for it.” She loved her children completely and at all costs.

I share those stories create a view into Mary’s fierce love. She loved with a force of will that is unmatched. I share that trait and chose a woman with that trait. Together, we are raising three girls who share that trait. Mary’s love was directed in a spotlight fashion and, I have to admit, I loved how that spotlight was directed at my children. I celebrate that love for my family and I cry to see that light extinguished.

I am at a loss. I am at a loss to comfort the ones I love who have lost a friend, a sister, a daughter, a grandmother, and hardest of all, a mom. My God has taken Mary into his embrace and welcomed her home. My God is the father of infinite love. My God can direct that same spotlight love on each of us, all at once. If one of my children does not recognize me on the street, I will embrace them anyway, there on the street. My love is not shy and my love is but thimble of God’s love. No earthly sin will ever exceed the love of the Father. God has wrapped Mary in his love and will grant her peace.

On the Sunday that followed Mary’s passing, a friend of mine who also lost her mom shared with me some heartfelt advice I want to share with Rachel, Ben, Savannah, Sydney, Sabrina, Karen, Nancy and others.

Now is the grief that you’ve prepared for. Now is when you’re ready for it. The holidays are never the same, but you anticipate the different. You steel yourself against it. You have people to help you through it.

Later is strange. Later comes the moment when a random recipe in a magazine causes you to want to pick up the phone to call her mom. Later is when something unexpectedly awful or awesome happens and the one person you want to share it with is the one person you can’t. Later are the thousands of moments that take your breath because you’re not ready. The unexpected is the hardest.

For each of these people, make sure you’re there for them in later. You’ll never know how much they’ll need it. When they get mad, because how can you possibly understand? You don’t “get it”. That’s ok. Love them with the fierceness Mary would have loved them.

I have to let my wife feel all the feels she needs to feel and comfort her through them. This time sucks. My heart hurts for my entire family. I know that the miracle was getting even one moment with Mary? I get it. I know. I am selfish. I wanted so much more for me. For my children. For Ben and my wife

In the end, our earthly life everlasting is the imprint we leave on the world. The moments of longing and loss are holes that Mary once filled with love and joy. Each tear is a celebration of a special moment that you shared. Today more than ever, we remember, It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.

Thank you, Mary for your amazing daughter. Thank you for loving me. I love and miss you. Amen and War Eagle.

Expanding Upon Spandex Theory

Not too long ago, a friend linked a brilliant blog post called (“The Spandex Theory”)[http://ernestgagnon.blogspot.com/2015/01/fall-2013-updated-spandexplanation-my.html]. If you haven’t read it already, you really ought to take the time to do so. I admit that when I first read through it, I thought it was a great human interest story, but the idea behind his Spandex Theory didn’t sit very well with me, probably not for the reasons you would think.

So first let us discuss the theory itself. It takes him a couple of rambling paragrapsh to get to the point defining what the theory is, but the crux of it comes from the following:

While wearing spandex on my bike, I started to love myself and fix my self. It also helps me deal with my depression because spandex is honest. It makes me honest with myself and with others. This is why I think the cycling world is so open; when people can accept themselves for who they are they can also accept others and help them to be their self. You can’t help others if you can’t accept and help your self. You make the spandex what it is, not the other way around.

Taking from that, I get this this:

Spandex Theory

The act of wearing spandex in public removes layers of protection and exposes a level of physical honesty that is reflected in the mental and emotional state of the wearer.

On the surface, it sounds good. So why did it not sit well with me? Because when I looked at it, I did not like something I saw in myself. It exposed an aspect of my behavior that I don’t particular care for, and in typical fashion the gut reaction was to dismiss the theory because I didn’t like what it showed. Fortunately, it sat there in the back of the brain and percolated over a couple of weeks, and eventually I circled back to it, and concluded that not only is there remarkable merit to the theory, but when you really get down to it, you also start to see some really deep truths tucked away in to the idea and concept.

What did I not like that made me dismiss this? Turns out, I am a judgemental ass. Probably not in the way you think though. Turns out, it’s not the spandex that makes me judge you, but it may be the choice of the spandex that triggers something in me. Show up in pro gear on a pro bike, and you better have the skills to ride at a pro level. When you fail at basic riding skills, decked out in pro gear, there is a really good chance I may judge you to be a pretentious ass. That judgement may be true, but it is not my place to make that jugement. This really hit home for me this year. I showed up to a group ride that I had not ridden before. It was early in the season and I knew the ride was tri bike friendly, so I grabbed the tri bike, and whatever kit was at the top of the drawer. It happened to be one of race kits, and when I started prep for the ride, one of the other riders walked over and asked if I was aware that this was not a fast ride. I knew, I wasn’t out for a fast ride, just a casual spin with some other people. The route was one I wanted to hit, because on the tri bike, it would present some good work at low speeds, and it was a chance to get to know more of the community in the area.

The question though, made me ask myself what triggered it. It wasn’t until I was out an spinning along that it gelled. I looked “Pro”. I was rocking a team tri kit, on a bike that looked to someone not deeply in to the triathlon bike world like a very high end bike ( it is and it isn’t. high end frame, mid-level components, low end wheels ). Early on, I would have made the same snap judgement, and I would have been wrong. It turned out to be a great ride, and an even better community of cyclists, and I blended right into the group, despite my tendancy to ride off the back of groups because I am basically a mother hen in a group, nobody gets left behind or isolated.

As the season went on, I kept circling back to this idea that cycling is the way it is because of the spandex effect, and that outsiders that judge cycling so harshly do so, also because of the spandex effect. The more I watched, the more I started to believe, and I started to see another dynamic that just fascinates me.

It Is Not The Activity

At first, I really wanted to ascribe the behavior to the bonding that people with a shared activity do. We all ride bikes, so that is the common ground. Runners have these bonds too right? Swimmers? Team Sports? Interestingly, not so much. In fact many of the communities for these activities are quite the opposite. If you look at cycling itself, you find that it can be quite the same, with some petty nastiness going on between the spandex wearers and the non. The mountain bike cyclists and road cyclists have some long standing issues, and not surprisingly, spandex is one of them.

Though I have cycled for a long time, I am actually fairly new to running, and very new to triathlon. I have only been running for about 4 years now. Runners, particularly male runners, are not spandex wearers. Even amongst female runners, there seems to be two distinct groups, the spandex wearers that run in spandex shorts and sports bras and the non-spandex wearers that seem to operate under the belief that only the hyper-fit rock hard bodies can wear spandex and the sports bra. When you get to know a lot of runners, you quickly learn that the line is not about the body, but the mind. It is a confidence thing, which circles back to the spandex theory.

But then came triathlon, and the wake up call that is the triathlon age group community.

Age groupers come in every shape, color, size and skill level. They all train for this crazy support, and you know what? the age group community is beyond welcoming. Judgement is left on the outside, and supportive is the only thing brought in. Yeah, on the race course, they race hard while still finding time to encourage others along the way, but before the start, and at the finish line? It is game on for some hard core support and cheering.

The runs over the last 4 years where the the runners gather up in the start corral, chat a bit about past races and food, and then when the gun goes off, shove to the front and off they go. At the finish, most of the runners get thier freebie, and many only hang around if they have a shot at an award, otherwise they are done and gone in their cars within minutes of finishing.

I can’t tell you how many bike races I’ve done over the years where the athletes show up, spin on trainers or rollers with headphones on pre-race, gather in the start and then go full gas until the finish line, throwing elbows if needed to get there. They’ll hang around at the finish line, but there isn’t much cheering going on. There will however be drinks and foof afterward for the friends that knew each other pre-race day. The thing is, not many cyclists race, but a huge number do organized events like Grand Fondo’s and Century Rides, and these are where the real spandex theory starts to show.

The more I looked, the more I concluded that he is on the right track.

But what really cemented the idea, and warranted the expansion of it for me? the realization that I know literally hundreds of triathletes, and cyclists around the area. People that I can identify from a hundred yards away out on the bike or run. Out of those hundreds, the number that I could identify from 5 feet away in street clothes probably numbers in a number I could count on my fingers, perhaps with the assistance of a couple of toes, and that stems from the other side effect of the spandex effect.

Once you shed the layers of disclosure, you create communities, clubs and active groups, clubs and those groups become very welcoming, and that is what led me to conclude that the spandex effect is real. Locally, we have a couple of medium sized running clubs, that will typically have 4-10 runners show up to a given week. Within the same community, I can name 6 different cycle clubs with upwards of 20 active riders at every event, and they just keep growing.

So here is my addition to the Spandex Theory.

The level in inclusivity of a group is directly proportional to the amount of spandex being worn during group activities.

I have an additional addendum though.

The same effect does not apply to a remove of clothing. Quite simply put, nudity increases sezual tensions that are usually erased in the cycling communities, not because they don’t exist, but because the “creeps” of both genders that make it uncomfortable are weeded out pretty quickly.

Ragnar? Why Not!

So today the OGREs are heading out to do a little weekend run. Just a ~200 mile kog from Chattanooga to Nashville with 10 of our friends. How did this happen? Because someone asked. Was there thought or planning that went into this? NOPE! Welcome to the life of an OGRE. Sometimes, you just have to say “screw it, sounds like fun”

One more IronMan post – Remember your Why

Why did I do an Ironman? 13 months ago, after my brother Dru did his first Sprint triathalon said he wanted to do an Ironman.  “Ok” I responded.  “You don’t have to do this,” he said.  He was right. I didn’t have to do it, I wanted to.  Maybe there was a little competitiveness with my older brother, but I told him, “I won’t finish before you, but I will finish on the same day.”  We are close in age, but were not so close for a number of years.

 

In 2008, I quit smoking and started wogging (just enough jogging to avoid calling it a walk).  One year later, my cousins convinced me to sign up for the Kentucky Derby Half Marathon. I had never run a mile.  One year of training later, I cried at the finish line of a half marathon.  My cousin Dorothy and I decided to try a marathon.  Seven months later, we completed the Outer Banks Marathon together.  My mom and dad were there at the finish.  I cried again.  One or two marathons per year satisfied my fitness needs.  Not too fast, not too slow.

 

Dru did athletic things when we were younger and had the natural ability.  In his teens and twenties he rode.  This past year, in training, we saw that he is a damn good cyclist.  However, his thirties were no kinder to his middle than mine.  I’d like to think my journey inspired him to start running.  And just as he was getting up to a couple of miles, I called one morning with a free entry to a 10K the next day.  “ok,” he responded.  “You don’t have to do this, ” I told him.  “I know.  Pick me up at 6AM?”  The photo of us running that 10K together will still be up in my house when I am very old.  That day, we decided to run a marathon together.  Disney marathon sounded like a good idea.

 

In November 2012, we ran Rock and Roll Savannah full.  Ed, Dru and I went down together in Ed’s 40′ RV.  All three brothers together was amazing, we have to do it more.  The day before the marathon Dru reminded me that he had done 100 mile bike rides, the marathon would not be so bad.  We ran side by side until mile 18.  He was hurting, but we were ahead of the 5 hour pacer.  When the pacer passed us, I got antsy.  “Go.  I’ll be right behind you”  Dru admonished.  I went.  Dru finished nearly an hour behind me.  I did not like that feeling.  Dru did not want to marathon again.  I left him behind to serve my own goals.

 

2 months later, Disney was worse and, in every way, better.   I had run the half marathon the prior day for my “personal” race.   We were running 26.2 together.  For the fun. For the pictures.  All of it.  Our families, including Mom, Dad and Ed were all down for this trip.   Dru tweaked his ankle at Mile 10 of Disney.   In pain, the last thing Dru needed was his little brother bouncing like  a chihuahua panting, “How you feeling? Need anything? Wanna run? Wanna walk? Wanna put a foot in your brother’s teeth?” for the next few hours.  Instead of staying by his side, I talked to everyone within half a mile of Dru.  I asked them why they were running.  I was inspired by their stories.  I coached spectators.  They were happy when I moved on.  I serenaded fellow runners. We stopped for every photo together.  I ran the bases in Wide World of Sports.  I rode Everest with my brother in the middle of a marathon.  We hugged our family in the street.  We had the time of our lives.  Dru swore off marathons.  He lied.  We did Savannah in 2013 and 20  14.

 

So in Summer 2014, Dru’s friend Dave gets Dru out for a Tri.  A little sprint Tri in July.  Dru decided to do an Ironman.  I mean, why not?  How hard can it be?  Queue the prior conversation…  Apparently, if we volunteer for IMChatt in 2014, then we get dibs for entering 2015.  At 6 AM after a day of helping runners at mile 13 of the run that looked like they wanted to die, we stood in line for 364 days of anticipation.  A couple of questions I asked during tis line included, “So, how far will we race?” and “it costs how much?”.

 

12 months later, I became an Ironman. 144.6 miles sounds like a lot of steps, but for me , it was just one of many

Link

Helmet Laws a bad thing?

As anyone that has ridden with the OGRE’s will already know, we do advocate the use of helmets, particular on the roads in a ‘sport’ or ‘recreational’ usage, but we fully agree that mandatory helmet laws for all bike usage, including path, and transportation uses are counter productive to expanding bicycle growth and usage, as well as having no discernible statistical value in reducing head trauma occurrences. Yes a helmet can reduce the amount of damage in an accident, but the use of a helmet also increases the risks cyclists (and drivers) take while wearing them.

Either way, read the article. Good food for thought.

One World, All OGRE

Back when we started batting the idea of OGRE around, we really didn’t have a plan, it was more of nebulous idea. Over the last year, that idea has begun to coalesce into something more. What exactly “more” constitutes is something that we are really just now putting into action, but the ideas, well, it is time to share.

In the beginning, OGRE was just a place for the brothers to share their racing escapades, bike, swim, run and motorcycle. At first, OGRE was Old Guys Racing Enterprises. The problem was that really didn’t fit for long. As we really started to realize that, for us, OGRE was less about us, and more about the people we hope to influence, inspire and encourage, things changed. Somewhere along the way, that “Eureka!” moment occurred.

With OGRE, we really are not looking to just publish about our “Epic Adventures” but to use the adventures to learn, to teach and to encourage. All of the sudden, it was not Racing, but Random, because these things are crossing boundaries that simply are not just racing. For example, we run to run, not just to race. We love to bike yet we really don’t race bikes. It also leads to something that we are seriously looking into to go step further, an OGRE Jump Start program that is the equivalent of a Couch to 5k program designed for getting started on a bicycle.

But there is more. Remember that Eureka! moment? Yep, that one.

OGRE is not just us. Not even close. OGRE is a philosophy, a movement about movement. It might even be a religion, because to us, it is. Being OGRE defines who and what we are about more than anything else. It is founded on some very basic concepts.

  • Live right
  • Love others
  • Respect yourself
  • Don’t be a jerk
  • Don’t be a selfish jerk
  • Don’t preach what you don’t live

Sounds simple right? It isn’t. Far from it, this is really hard to do in practice, especially since these concepts are pretty broad concepts, so I guess we need to look at them a little more closely.

Live Right

Ultimately, all of the others fall under this broad one, but we leave it here because in many ways, this one idea applies to every decision we make on the path of life. What does it mean though? It means that when an OGRE looks at a situation and chooses the option that is the “right” one, where right is defined as the one that doesn’t make them a selfish jerk, and best benefits everyone involved.

Love Others

Something that is often forgotten along the way is that we have to love the people around us in order to truly learn to love ourselves and our lives. All too often, we get so mired in our own problems, that we forget that we are not islands. What we do, and how we behave directly impacts those around us. When we fail to love and respect them, we fail ourselves. Part of this means forgetting that things like race, gender, sexual orientation, political affiliation, religion or even food choices exists. These are not things that should ever matter.

Seriously, living the OGRE lifestyle means forgetting those biases even exist, and simply learning to appreciate others for who and what they are. If it helps, keep in mind our namesakes. We are not princes and princesses. We are the ugly, the fat, the swamp dwellers, and we are not only fine with it, we have embraced it. We are OGREs.

Respect Yourself

This one should not even need to be mentioned, but really, it has become one of the most important reminders. Along the path of life, most of us have been worn down. We have had every flaw exposed, diagnosed and those flaws have come to be a part of our identities. We have our warts, and in all of that ugliness, we have come to respect the people that have torn us town more than we respect ourselves. As OGREs, we have learned that we have to respect ourselves. From that respect, we can grow and rediscover our true selves, peeling away the layers of shame and ugliness that we have allowed others to cocoon us with.

Don’t Be a Jerk

Curiously, with self respect sometimes comes an arrogance that leads us to be jerks to others. Part of the OGRE way is to find the path to respect and confidence without being a jerk. Sounds easy, but in practice, not being a jerk is situational. You have to understand the people around you and temper your behavior and decisions around how your actions will be received by them. It is the little things.

In a household of all men, leaving the toilet seat up is a courtesy. Other men don’t want to sit on a pee splash seat, but at the same time, don’t want to have to flip it up to pee. On the flip side, in a household of women, that seat should always be put down after use. Again, courtesy that when applied in a reasonable manner is the very soul of not being a jerk.

Don’t Be a Selfish Jerk

In so many ways, this one, more than any of the others is the one that challenges most of us in out daily lives. We do a hundred little selfish things every single day. We don’t even realize them. No where does this show more than when we get behind the wheel of a car. Racing up, weaving through traffic, camping in the left lane. Pushing stop lights, rolling stop signs, and other behaviors are all actions deeply rooted in our selfish desires to reach our destinations quicker. The fact that most of these actions slow down those around us only makes them even more selfish.

However, things get even more complex when we start telling or worse, enforcing, our opinions onto others. Think about the times we are driving in our cars, get angry at the behavior of a selfish driver and then we enforce our unhappiness upon the next driver that does that thing. You know, waiting in line to turn and that other driver whips past the line cutting in at the last minute, so you close the gaps to keep the next one from doing it? I see it every single day when I am driving around town.

Don’t Preach What You Don’t Live

Seriously, how hard is this? You would think it would be easy, but it seems that this is the single hardest concept for most people. This very post has been written and deleted a dozen times in the last year, simply because it is preaching a lifestyle that we choose to live, but we really don’t like preaching it to others. That simply isn’t the OGRE way. You can choose to follow suit, but that is your choice, but it also means that you don’t preach it, you live it.

You are an Ironman

You have more can than you think you can – favorite shirt

Don’t drown, Don’t Crash, Don’t quit – my own mantra

Remember your why – favorite sign

Scott, You are an Ironman! – my favorite sentence. A 5 word sentence that I did not really care about before race day.

I assume every Ironman has asked themselves during the race why they are putting their body through this pain. I know most of the pain is a lie that my brain tells my body to make me quit. My brain tells me I am done long before I am really done; but this I have learned during training, “I have so much more can than I think I can.” And more importantly, I “get” to do this. I have close friends battling Cancer from hospital rooms. My wife could not make the trip because she had to take her mom to ICU on Friday. My wife wants me to finish. She does not want me to repeat this investment for a while… “What investment?”, you ask

Money? Oh damn, this game is expensive. $700 for the entry fee. Join a team, $150. Oh, that bike won’t do. Low end tri bike $1400. GU, Carbs, Protein, Shoes, Helmet, etc… Hotels, training travel, training races… Oh my.

Time? Tuesday after work run. Wednesday after work bike. Saturday long ride. Sunday run. Daily lunch exercise. Tired all the time

Pride?
I am a swimmer. I did not swim competitively when I was young, but I grew up with a pool in the back yard. As it happens, recreational swimming and distance swimming are not the same. Lots of pool time, not enough open water time. I could have trained harder.

I am not a strong rider. I don’t love the bike, more to the point, I don’t like cars. In metro Atlanta , there are few places to train hills and avoid cars. Thank goodness I spent the money to buy a team. Training weekends on the bike were so much better in no drop groups. I trained and whined. I could have trained harder.

I am a strong runner. I like to run. There is a reason I have done 8 marathons since I quit smoking. I switch on my audio book and disconnect my brain. I picked bike hours over run hours. I could have trained harder.

The entire week before the Ironman, I was a nervous wreck. Concentration was impossible. I am not a fan of the extra hotel night of Friday Check-in, but getting to Chattanooga finally let me breathe. I could focus on the fun and the fun with my brother. He trained harder, but shared the nervousness. It was me and my team, together for whatever. Everything about the weekend was about the event. Friday was check in and dinner with the team. Dru and I ran the hilly 5 miles of the run course. Saturday was a test swim in the river and bike check in. Early to bed and Sunday to rise will make this man stronger and done with this Tri.

Dru and I were at the Courtyard beside the Ironman village, so we were able to check our bikes and get body marking done with time to head back to the room for Hotel Room poop. I do love a nice private poop. The swim start is actually part of the greenway run course later. A mile of athletes waiting for an epic day means long lines at the porta potties. The official water temp meant that wearing a wetsuit was optional, meaning the wearing a wetsuit disqualified you from age group awards. Dru opted to swim without his wetsuit. I choose buoyancy. Wetsuiters had to go last, so I gave Dru a hug and wished him a great race.

Once my feet hit the water, the day was on. I have never loved open water swimming. Something about bumping into others keeps me from getting into the “zone.” It took a couple hundred yards to get a good google seal. Eventually, I got settled into a groove. I had a number of course resets and looking for open areas to swim, but 2.4 miles has never gone so fast for me. The TVA limited the current, but 3 days of rain made for favorable waters. As the finish came into sight, I took a break and relaxed; I had to tell the volunteer kayaker that I was just warming the water. It beat waiting in a pottie line. Don’t drown – Check 1:05 Swim

My shorty wetsuit made for a simple transition. I stuck to my nutrition plan and stuffed my face as I ran my bike out. Dru and I had come up 3 weeks before and rode the bike course. I knew this course would not beat me, only riding too fast would beat me. I planned to keep my average at 15 MPH. 3 weeks of taper had me feeling good and staying under 17 was a challenge. I made it to the first aid station at mile 20 before another bathroom break. Fortunately, there was no line for rest stop one. Finally, I felt I was really on my way. 116 miles on the bike is monotony. I did not have the breath for chatting. Thank yous for the volunteers and “on your left” broke up the day. The ride is beautiful. The hills are not hell on the ride. The most exciting moment of the ride was the Pros passing me like I was standing still on the turn on to Hog Jowl Road. My biggest fear was knocking into one of them and ruining their race.

A friend of mine had told me that the game of Ironman is nutrition. Gatorade Endurance on the course, Base Salt and GU, put me in great shape. I had peanut butter crackers and more sport beans in my 56 mile bag. I also had a packet of Chamois Butt’r. Never before have I applied napalm to my balls, but to prevent further damage… One final pee break at the final aid station and I was homeward bound. My tailbone was on fire. The last 16 miles hurt, but I finished. I admitted that the bike and me were breaking up. We had some good times, but she was breaking me. Don’t crash – Check 6:52:42

My half distance race (70.3 miles) had taught me that the tri kit zipper would bounce and draw blood on the run. I hated not wearing my team gear, but my bike to run transition included a compression shirt that I was incapable of putting on. Another big volunteer “thank you” for helping an old man dress. Another coating of body glide and I was out for a run. Only one goal left, don’t quit.

As it happens, I am a strong runner; but I did not have a run plan. I started at a 10 minute mile and figured I would run until I couldn’t. Then I would walk. Then I would run until I couldn’t. Then I would walk. Repeat. This was a recipe for injury. I got lucky. I got lucky that I had a team. At mile 2, I found Tara from my Endurance House Team. I asked Tara about her run plan. “Run 3 minutes at the top of every mile. Then speed walk.” She was certainly speed walking. A 14 minute mile walk pace meant a 12 minute mile average. I decided to stay with her until 13 or so. “Or so” became the rest of the night. Thank goodness for teams.

Scott, you are an Ironman. The 5 words I did not care about for 20 or so hours on Sept 27. Somewhere around 8 PM, those words started to matter. There was a sign along the course, “Remember your Why.” Those words were never part of my “why” but they were part of my finish. As we crossed the bridge for the second loop, I could hear people finishing. I could hear people becoming an Ironman. I wanted to finish this step of my journey. Scott, you are an Ironman became part of “don’t quit”. Dru and I would do this together.

At mile 21 we found another teammate struggling. Lee joined us in our now 13:30 minute mile pace. Together, we made a plan. Tara, me, then Lee. We would each hear our name and those words. I would see my children. I would miss my wife who was home with her mother in the hospital. As my feet hit the IM carpet, I threw my arms in the air. My kids tell me I ran by too fast for them to get a video. “Scott from Georgia. You are an Ironman!” Yes, I am. An amazing volunteer walked me through the finish activities. He delivered me to my children. I was stinky and sweaty and hugged them anyway. I swore I would cry, but I didn’t. I was happy and proud. Dru found me and hugged me. I was so proud of him. Mom and dad found me. They were so proud of their sons. They also had Mellow Mushroom. I would have picked Mellow Mushroom over sex at that moment.

The Ironman was harder than I thought it would be. Constant motion for 13 hours and 54 minutes was exhausting. My pain was not so bad. My teammate Tara had saved me with a manageable run, I might have been able to finish 20 minutes faster, but would have resulted in injury and that demoralizing loneliness of miles 18-21 on the run. After a little rest and relishing the joy, we headed to the hotel. I showered in my full run kit. It needed washing anyway. I told my kids I was heading back to the finish line. I had to be there to cheer for the midnight club. It was an awesome experience. Finishing was hard for this 42 year old. I never worried about the clock. Cheering for men and women whose “all” was dangerously close to a DNF was awesome. Find the video of the man who finished at 11:59:59. The true story is that he paced in the man before him; however, the drama of his finish matched the day. The day is everything that every man and woman has to give.

I love that I am an Ironman. I loved the weekend with my brother. I love that my family was there at the finish. I love that my team made my day. I love asking Dru, “what’s next?” I love know that more epic shit is in our future.

Dru, you and your brother Scott became Ironmen as part of a life of epic shit. Keep doing epic shit!