Weekend Update - Bad Timing on Out-And-Backs

Well, I think it's safe to say that my self-induced calf injury is a thing of the past. I only have a handful of weeks (5 to be exact) until the Austin Marathon, so I had no choice but to get a quality long run in this weekend. Saturday was my day. It was cold and the wind was blowing over 20 mph, but I bundled up and headed out the door, hoping for the best.

I had planned to do a 2 hour run, so I was going out an hour and then turning around. That works well if you run EXACTLY the same speed on the way out as you do on the way in. I, unfortunately, NEVER do that. So I'm forced with either running past my house at the end of the run, or running longer on the way out and risking making a the run longer than it was supposed to be. At the 53 minute mark, I had a choice to make. Turn left, down a familiar path, and run out of road in less than two minutes, meaning I would likely get home early. Or turn right, down a road I had never been down before and risk upsetting the Drama Queen that is my brain since I wouldn't know EXACTLY where to turn around (YES, I am OCD!). There is not much I hate more than getting home early during a workout. It's worse on the bike because I basically have to soft pedal around the neighborhood just to get the last two minutes in so that my power file says 4:00 instead of 3:58 (again, OCD). But it's just as bad on a run. To me, my driveway is like a finish line. And I don't like to run past it!

So I took the road less traveled and turned to the right. DQ immediately freaked out ("What are we doing!!?? This isn't the right way!!). But, I somehow survived, and by the time the hour was up, I could see a big turn in the road. I was feeling REALLY good at that point, so I decided to keep going and turn around at the big turn. I turned around in 1:02, and then realized why I had felt so good. I had been running slightly downhill for the past nine minutes. Oh yeah, and remember that 20+ mph wind? Well, that was helping me run down that hill. All of a sudden, I was running much slower, and DQ was trying to convince me to just walk. So much for the road less traveled!

As it turned out, the wind was in my face for most of the trip home. I ran just under 17 miles, and I finished in 2:07. I.e., 7 minutes longer than I planned on running. That's practically a mile further. And it was SO WORTH IT!! Because I didn't have to run anymore once I got home. Unless you are a runner (and possibly OCD), don't even try to understand this way of thinking.

Sunday - Another two hour workout, but this time, 90 minutes of it was on the bike with the last thirty minutes being a run. Sunday was not as cold and the wind was practically gone, so the bike ride was uneventful. Then I had a 30 minute run. The first hard transition run of the season is always fun. And by fun, I mean ridiculously difficult. I felt like I was carrying a 50 pound pack on my back. I turned around after two miles (14:30) because I figured I would slow down on the way home. Most of the last mile back to the house is uphill, and my legs were pretty much toast at that point. But I wasn't about to give up with less than a mile left to finish the weekend! So I pushed on. I topped the hill, and knew I was only two minutes from home.

Two more minutes, and my weekend is over! Two more minutes, and I can EAT. Two more minutes, and I can take a hot shower!! I rounded the corner and headed towards my driveway finish line. I joyously glanced at my watch and realized . . . I made it home a minute too early.

How Fast Are You Willing To Go?

On this, the opening day of the Olympics, I was reminded of the above picture and decided to write my thoughts about it. The athlete puking up his Gatorade is Jarrod Shoemaker, who was the first male to qualify for the 2008 USA Olympic Team in the triathlon. I’m sure that picture says different things to different people. “Gross” might be a common response for many. Or “Why would he do that to himself?” for others. To me, it says that Jarrod Shoemaker is someone who is willing to hurt bad enough to win. Are you?

There is not a lot of separation physically between most US Olympic quality athletes. I believe what separates the athletes at the top is mostly mental. An athlete who clearly understands this as well as anyone is Lance Armstrong. I’m paraphrasing, but I remember him saying something along the lines of, “If it came down to who was willing to suffer the most, I was going to win every time.” Granted, Lance was faster and stronger than everyone else. But he was also willing to hurt more than they were. And he won because of it.

It's quite simple, really. SPEED HURTS. Believe it or not, I get a bigger knot in my stomach before an Olympic distance race than before a half-ironman (which is more than twice as far!) because I know what kind of pain I am about to put my body through. It's not necessarily "more painful," but it is a more intense kind of pain than you endure in longer races. Perhaps I’m not working hard enough during half-ironmans, I don’t know. But what I do know, is that regardless of what "fast" means to you, speed, for everyone, is very painful.

If you read this blog, then you know that I write a lot about how the mind will do everything it can to make you slow down. And you know that I believe the mind overreacts, which is why I have dubbed my right brain as the "Drama Queen" or DQ for short. I can almost ALWAYS go faster than DQ wants me to. We all have our own DQ. And there are lots of tricks that our DQs will play in order to try and slow us down. Just ask Jarrod Shoemaker. I’m convinced that I place high in races, not just because I am stronger or more fit, but because I am willing to hurt more than some of the guys behind me. I’m also convinced that I’m stronger than some of the guys (and women) that finish in front of me. But on that day, they are willing to hurt more than I am.

I’m not saying that you have to throw up to prove that you worked up to your level of fitness (I think the German to Shoemaker's right is giving his all as well -- he's definitely not enjoying himself). Only you can really know whether you gave your all. Personally, I’m not convinced that I have EVER raced as hard as I can. That’s a tough thing for me to admit. But I believe it is true. There’s only one thing I can do about that. I’m racing the next three weekends. Two of those are sprint distance races that will give me the opportunity to practice my willingness to hurt in a race situation. As a former coach of mine used to say, "It's not going to tickle." Regardless, it’s time to find out how fast I am willing to go.

Controlling the Drama Queen

Everyone pushes themselves harder in a group than on their own. But there are times when you need to train on your own. So how do you really push yourself when no one's watching? To some, this is the very definition of integrity. And for me, the answer to that question is one of the keys to being successful (however you want to define "success"), not only in endurance sports, but in life. Sometimes, no matter how much integrity I think I have, the Drama Queen that is my Right Brain yells out that I can't do whatever it is I'm trying to do. And he is VERY persuasive at times. The best way to convince him that I'm not working as hard as he thinks I am is my power meter. The numbers don't lie. It tells me exactly how hard I'm pushing the pedals. But still, sometimes ME seeing the numbers is not enough when every ounce of my being is screaming for me to stop (or at least slow down). Which brings me to what I believe is the real key to controlling the Drama Queen. Accountability.

My wonderful coach, Lindsay, sees every file from every one of my rides, and she can tell exactly how hard I was working every minute of the way. That means that when she has me do 5x2 minutes Power Intervals (like she had me do this morning), then she can tell, among other things, how strong I am today (both physically AND mentally). Mentally, because she knows exactly what I’m capable of doing (even better than I know myself). So if the numbers aren't quite there, or if they fade toward the end of an interval, she can tell that I either gave up mentally, or that I’m more tired (or not as strong) than either of us realized.

A lot of how we measure my intensity against my actual power is based on Rate of Perceived Exertion (“RPE”). For example, most of my training volume is done at around a 6 on a scale of 1-10. Intervals are usually around 8-9 depending on the purpose and length of the interval. Power Intervals are a 10. In other words, it's “go as hard as you can for 2 minutes without fading or spiking at the end.” Two minutes doesn’t seem that bad, right? Well, it is worse than "that bad." Power Intervals are, without a doubt, the most difficult intervals that I am ever asked to do on a bike. In fact, they are the only thing I do (with the possible exception of running mile repeats at the track) where every time I do them, I seriously think I’m going to puke at the end of the set. I usually do these on the trainer because I feel like they are too dangerous to do on the road. I'm pretty sure that I would fall off my bike at the end of each interval if I wasn't locked into the trainer.

So at 6:00 in the morning, alone in my garage, and sitting on my trainer . . . working "as hard as I possibly can" can have several meanings. There is no chance I would work as hard as I do without knowing that my computer is recording every turn of the pedals! It’s actually just as effective as if Lindsay were standing there looking over my shoulder the entire time (because, in a way, she is). And because of that (well, let’s be honest, because of my PRIDE), I almost never back off during my cycling intervals. Otherwise, I have to explain to her why I didn't (couldn't?) do them the way she expected me to. For me, that is A LOT more painful than 5x2 minutes of suffering on the bike. Yes, even more painful than falling off my bike and puking.

No wonder my cycling has gotten so much stronger in the past year. If only someone would come up with a power meter for swimming and running! Until then, I’ve got to find some other way to convince the Drama Queen to let me work harder.

The Battle of My Left and Right Brains

Yes, I have two brains. Neither of them work properly all of the time, but between them and me, we seem to manage ok. Here is my report from the Triple Bypass. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed the ride!

After (finally) finding a place to park, Ryan and I clipped in at about 6:40. The climbing started at about 6:41. The first climb is up to Squaw Pass, which tops out at 11,140 feet. It was gorgeous and not too tough (probably because it was the first climb!). We pretty much rode steady up to the first aid station, which is at the top of the climb. It was cold at the top so I put on my arm warmers for the fast ride back down the other side of the mountain. I was basically wearing the same clothing I would wear on a 100 degree day in Hades, er . . . Texas, plus some thin arm warmers. No big deal, right? Wrong. It turns out, when you are traveling on two very thin wheels at speeds of over 40 miles an hour, it's a good idea to be warm! Just try staying on your bike traveling that fast down a mountain without the ability to keep your front wheel from wobbling because you are shivering so much. The ironic part is that shivering is your brain’s way of keeping you warm so that you don’t go into hypothermia. But when choosing between 40mph worth of road rash (not to mention broken bones . . . even though I just did) and the risk of hypothermia, I choose the risk of hypothermia almost every time (especially since I was in no real danger of hypothermia!). My logical, know-it-all, dorky, left brain was eventually able to convince my touchy feely, over-reacting, hippie, risk-taking (and very cold), right brain that keeping the bike upright was more important, and the shivering in my arms stopped. One down. Two to go.

After a jaunt through Idaho Springs, we started the climb up to Loveland Pass (11,990 feet). The only really bad part of the entire course was when we actually had to get on I-70 and battle the semis. It wasn’t too long though, and eventually, we made it to an aid station 4 miles from the top of Loveland Pass. I knew this would be the steepest part of the day, so we fueled up on turkey sandwiches, peanut butter and jelly, watermelon, and Cliff Blocks before heading up the last part of the climb. We guessed that it would take around 40 minutes. I felt really good coming out of that aid station (I’m sure it was the Wonder Bread and processed turkey!), so I decided to go for it. At one point I heard someone tell his riding partner (a very strong female) to “get on his wheel” (talking about me), so there was no way I was slowing down after that (both my brains are prideful!). I pulled those two for a while, and ended up ticking off all four miles in 26 minutes (14 minutes faster than my guess). That’s where we stopped for the above picture.

Knowing that my right brain is not a fast learner, I bundled up for the ride down this time (arm warmers, leg warmers, and my rain jacket). While bundling, I felt like the back of my head was going to explode! I got dizzy, and for a minute wondered if I would vomit right over the side of the mountain. Apparently, neither of my brains like working that hard at 12,000 feet since they live about 6 feet above sea level. They settled down and I felt much better about half way down the mountain, and no shivering! Two down. One to go.

After the descent we went around Lake Dillon and into a rest stop in Frisco. Once you go through Frisco, you get on a trail that leads all the way to Avon (about 40-50 miles away (pay attention Texas, you could learn something from Colorado’s trails!)). It was the easiest climb of the day, but it was by far the hardest climb of the day. It wasn’t as steep or as long as the two we had just done. But I entered a zone, not too far into that climb, that endurance athletes refer to as "bonking." Most athletes overuse the term bonking, so I rarely say it. It’s not just getting tired and not being able to work hard anymore. That's not bonking, that's you not training hard enough. Bonking is actually when your brain decides it’s time to quit, and there’s nothing the rest of your body can do to convince it otherwise. Here is the scientific explanation of what happens when you bonk, which was written by Chris Carmichael:

“The importance of carbohydrate cannot be overstated. Not only is it the primary fuel source for endurance performance, it is the primary fuel for your brain and central nervous system. The brain cannot produce energy from fat or protein on its own; it can only take glucose (sugar) from the blood. This is part of the reason bonking (running low on blood sugar) is so detrimental to performance. The confusion, nausea, and disorientation that go along with bonking are more due to the brain running low on glucose than a problem with energy-starved muscles. When push comes to shove, the brain acts defensively to make sure it gets enough fuel. It forces you to slow down or stop exercising so it can use what sugar you have left to maintain your basic bodily functions.”

In other words, if you truly bonk, you can only blame yourself because you didn’t fuel properly! (of course, if you fake bonk, you can only blame yourself because you didn't train properly!). I’ve known this for a long time. I’ve known that bonking leads to confusion, nausea, and in my case, grumpiness/irritability. But the best part about bonking is that the logical, analytical left brain can’t even figure out what the heck is going on! Logic goes out the window, and the hippie right brain takes over and screams “DUUUUDE! SOMETHING’S WRONG!!! You've killed the left brain! I'm all you have left! We have to stop, NOW! And don’t think I won’t make you puke to do it!” All you can think at that point is, “I don't want to do this anymore or ever again.” You can’t figure out that all you need is a little sugar. And all you want is to do is stop.

So when we got to Copper Mountain, we stopped. And I ate. And then, I was fine. We cruised on up to Vail Pass (10,560 feet) without any other issues. I was happy, level headed, and having fun again. Stupid right brain! All we needed was a gel! Stop overreacting! We aren’t going to freeze to death, and we certainly aren’t going to starve to death! (Does anyone else find it strange that the RIGHT side of our brain is the hippie? Genius. God is hilarious.).

This has gotten really long, so I won’t go into much detail about the last 25-30 miles other than to say that it is NOT all downhill like the deceitful map shows. And the map conveniently left off the headwind as well. In all, I only burned around 4500 calories over the 121 miles (that extra mile was from our parking spot to the start) and over 10,000 feet of climbing. Right at 7 and a half hours. Average speed: a smokin’ 16 mph.

My right brain wants to do it again next year. We still haven’t convinced the left side. He’ll come around though. He forgets things easily.