Ironman World Championships 70.3 - This ain't your momma's triathlon!

This is a special race. Everyone is fit. Everyone is fast. And EVERYONE can run. I know I’m not a strong swimmer. But my cycling has come a long ways the past couple of seasons. And running has always been my bread and butter. In most races, if I can stay close enough on the swim, I can usually make up some ground on the bike, and then attack the run. Not in Clearwater. Not at the World Championships. Dropped in the swim? Guess what. GAME OVER! Enjoy your next 3+ hours of racing. Because you have no chance.

Not that I had a bad swim (for me anyway). But this course, and everyone’s ability to run well under a 1:30 for the half marathon, sets up to really punish the weaker swimmers of the bunch. You have to be balanced to do well at this race. And by balanced I mean, you can’t have any weaknesses. Lesson learned. You want to play with the best? You’d better bring something more than a strong run.

The swim started out fine. They moved it to the causeway water due to the conditions in the ocean from Hurricane Ida. That changed the start to a time trial instead of waves. Basically, you walked across the timing mat, and your race started. It got very crowded and people were fighting to get in the water once they crossed that mat. I got a great feel for how international the race is while waiting in the starting chute. Two German guys were confused as to how to get into the water. It was only about one foot deep, so the officials announced that you would be disqualified for diving in. The German guys didn’t get the distinction between jumping in the water and “diving” head first. “Everyone is diving, no?” Nein. Don’t go head first. “AHHHH!!! Danke.” No problem, dude. Have a good race.

FOCUS on the swim. The time trial start was both good and bad. It was less crowded than most wave starts are. But the faster swimmers would run right up on you and you would do the same thing to the slower swimmers in front of you. I got kicked in the head a few times. All in all, I would prefer a mass wave start. I’m sure the guy that took second place in my age group would agree, since he lost by one second. Four hours and two minutes of racing, and this guy loses by one second—probably with no idea that it was that close because of the time trial start. Unbelievable.

About 400 meters into the swim, I was starting to settle in and find a good stroke when I noticed that we were swimming through a bunch of seaweed. The water was so shallow that my hands were hitting the sea bottom. I tried to swim shallow to not touch bottom, but I ended up cutting my middle finger on something. Of course, my first thought was “I’m bleeding in the ocean. Great.” It hurt, but there wasn’t much I could do about it so I just kept swimming. I had trouble finding the turn buoy because we were swimming directly into the sun. I just followed the others and eventually saw a red buoy—time to make hard left turn. 800 meters into the swim, and I stood up and walked around the buoy in water that didn’t even come up to my waste.

The only other trouble on the swim was the exit. It was very difficult to see where to go. With no practice on this course the days leading up to the race, I had no idea what to look for as I was swimming in. I kept having to stop and look around to get my bearings. Finally, I exited the water and headed to the transition—35 minutes after I started.

CONCEDE on the bike. This bike course was all that was advertised. Flat, fast, fairly windy, and lots of big groups of cyclists. About 15 minutes into the ride, Michael Dawdy went by me. That man is a beast on a bike! And he had EIGHT guys sitting right on his wheel. They were lined up like he was leading them on a breakaway. I’ve never seen guys ride that close in a triathlon before.

Not much else to say about the bike. I stayed aero, followed the race plan, stayed within my power zones, kept up with my nutrition, ignored all the guys that were passing me, and finished with plenty of legs to run on (or so I thought at the time). One of the most uneventful, near perfect bike splits of any long course race I’ve been in. The most interesting thing that happened was looking down at my hands and noticing that I was still bleeding from the swim. My new, white Fizik bar wrap is now stained with blood (as are my new white shoelaces. I don’t think I stopped bleeding until I stopped racing.).

I averaged 24.4 mph for the bike and finished in 2:17.

STAMPEDE on the run. That was the plan anyway. In almost every long course race, my lower quads cramp in the first mile of the run. This race was no different. About 4 minutes in, the cramping started. I usually just have to slow down a little until my legs realize that we are now running, not pedaling, and the cramping will subside. Sure enough, just as I started up the causeway, the cramping stopped and I was able to run strong. Not as strong as I had hoped, but close.

Speaking of the causeway . . . that thing is steep! I knew we had a “bridge” to run across four times, but I failed to consider the size of the ships that have to pass under that bridge. The first trip over it wasn’t too bad. I found my legs pretty quickly and ran the first 5 miles in just over 35 minutes. The second trip over the causeway took a little bit out of me. I slowed a little during that sixth mile. It didn’t last too long and soon, I was running strong again. I think the best I felt all day was during the second half of the seventh mile. I felt as strong as I have ever felt in a half Ironman.

Then I went over the causeway for a third time.

I had been taking Gatorade at every aid station up to that point. Gatorade will often upset my stomach, so I try to stick with gels. But when I’m working that hard, it’s almost impossible to eat a gel and keep up the pace. So I was taking one drink of Gatorade, followed by a drink of water, at every aid station. Just after the eighth mile, I was coming off the causeway, feeling strong, with only five miles to go, and I decided to skip one aid station. I don’t know if it was the day, the lack of focused training the past two months, skipping the Gatorade, the causeway, running too hard when I started feeling good, or a combination of all of these, but at that ninth mile, someone flipped a switch, and I entered a really low spot. Every step was a fight.

I did everything I could to keep my pace up, but to no avail. And when I cracked, I cracked! I slowed by about a minute a mile for the next two miles. I started taking Gatorade again, and managed to pull myself together for the last two miles. But by that point, it was too late. The damage was done.

I had run the first half in 46 minutes (only one minute off my goal pace). The second half took me 51 minutes. And that was mostly due to the last four miles. My total run time was 1:37.

Overall impressions. My total time was 4:37, which is my fastest time at this distance. I can look back now and see where I could have easily gone several minutes faster (for one thing, my transitions were pathetic!). But even looking at where I lost time, I think the best I could have done that day was possibly still not good enough to crack the top half in my age group.

This is very humbling (humiliating?) for me. I never thought I would go there and win. At least not this year. But I didn’t think I would be 100th place out of 137. I don’t think I really appreciated just how fast everyone there was going to be. Now I know. And next time, I’ll be ready for that. That race is all business. One thing’s for certain . . . it made me want to experience Kona even more. There’s just something about competing with the best that appeals to me. And I can’t wait to do it again. I will be back. But not until I am ready to actually compete.

Right now, I’m just not fast enough. And if I learned one thing, it's that just because you're fast enough to get there, doesn't mean you're fast enough to compete there.

Turkeys Trotting

It has been a tradition in my family for many many years to run the annual YMCA Dallas Turkey Trot every Thanksgiving morning. It's actually my favorite running event in Dallas, and was also one of my first. With everyone spread out across the country, this is the one event of the year that everyone has always been in Dallas for. And that has meant that it's the one time of the year that my entire family goes and competes at the same event at the same time, whether we are prepared for the 8 miles or not. Thankfully, tomorrow will be no exception.

As I've mentioned before, everyone in my immediate family is a runner. My dad has been running since running wasn't cool. Mom started several years ago and hasn't slowed down yet. My sister is a former Texas High School State Champion in the two mile and runner up in the mile. My wife runs, her sister runs, my sister's husband runs, and even the little ones begged to run the three mile event this year.

So tomorrow we will all toe the line once again and remember the things that we are all thankful for. For me, this year I am most thankful for my dad's ability to run. Even though he is having to settle with "only" doing the three mile event this year, that's three more miles than the doctor recently told him he would ever be able to run again. He has a ways to go before he can run another marathon, or even as fast as he would like to run 3 miles. But for now, just finishing three miles is his own personal marathon.

Never underestimate your ability to influence others around you to run/bike/swim/whatever. And you never know how far it will go. My dad ran. So my sister ran. So I ran. So my wife ran, and her sister ran. And my sister's husband ran. And finally, my mom ran (and to this day is the most dedicated of all of us!). Eventually, all of dad's grandchildren will likely run as well. I don't know where the chain will stop. But there's no doubt where it began. Thank you, dad, for always inspiring us to reach beyond our potential, and to go further than any of us thought was possible. You are truly an inspiration. And thank you, especially, for teaching us to run.

Be thankful this week for your ability to train and race. And think about that the next time you don't feel like training or racing. Seeing my dad deal with an injury that the doctors can't seem to fix has made me really think about the fact that someday I won't be able to do this anymore. People often ask me why I do Ironman events. Why do I swim, bike, and run as much as I do? Why do I put myself though that?

Because someday I won't be able to. But today is not that day. Today, I can run. Today, I can hurt and keep moving. Today, I can push myself beyond my comfort level. And for that, I am thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving.

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.

Stop all your whining!

Athletes are a whiny bunch. Most want perfect conditions all the time. Well, too bad. Especially for me. Because I live in Texas. Where it's windy and hot. Always. If you live and train here, don't be surprised when you go outside and your skin melts. It's Texas! I bet our Alaskan friends don't go outside in winter and say, "Holy crap, it's cold! And dark! I thought it was noon?" Of course it's cold and dark at noon in the winter! It's Alaska! But more on that later . . .

I had last Friday off for the 4th of July (hooray, America!). I like to take advantage of long weekends by getting in lots of good miles on the bike, even if it's only two weeks after an Ironman. Surprisingly, though, I was feeling quite recovered from the race, so I got up early on Friday and met some guys in Dallas for about a 60 mile ride. I felt pretty strong all morning, and was really impressed with how quickly I seemed to recover from the Ironman. Last year it took me two months to feel strong again. This year, two weeks (or so I thought)!

Our plans for Friday included celebrating the 4th (and another Ironman finish for Brian and me) at my parents' house, which is about 35 miles away. So Brian thought it would be fun to ride to their house. I agreed. I'm not sure what happened, but sometime between my morning ride and noon it got really, really hot. And humid. And windy. I know what you're thinking . . . "at least there was wind to help cool you off." Um, if you're thinking that, then you've never been here. The wind makes it hotter. Not to mention slower. If you want to understand how this feels, set up your trainer in a steam room, and then have someone blow a hair dryer in your face while you hammer away for about 2 hours. Needless to say, by the time I got to my parents, I was wasted. Regardless, it was 90 miles and a little less than 5 hours of riding, so that's still a pretty good day. Besides that, I hear Kona is fairly hot and humid as well so I might as well be prepared for that day, whenever it may come.

Which reminds me . . . Would everyone please stop whining about tough conditions and especially about difficult courses!?!? Triathlons are hard. All of them. Especially Ironmans. But even sprint distances with short pool swims are hard. If they aren't, then you aren't trying hard enough! Training is also hard. And if you aren't training in difficult conditions, then you aren't going to be ready for race day when it's hot, cold, sunny, rainy, windy, whatever. The last time I was in Boulder, Ryan and I got back to the Res after a long day of riding during an unseasonably windy day. As we were stretching, a guy came up who had just finished his run. He said he was a pro duathlete (admitted that he "can't" swim -- that's a topic for another post). He was supposed to run 15 miles or so that day, but it was "too windy" so he was calling it a day. ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? Too windy? I'm an age grouper who works more than "full-time" as an attorney, and I was out there enjoying a great day of training. Here's a guy who's a supposed "professional" and he doesn't want to run because it's windy?! Really? I wonder why I've never heard of this guy? In the words of the great Steve Prefontaine, "To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift." Everyone that does this sport (especially those that do it for a living!) have been given a special gift. Don't sacrifice it because it's windy! Show me a pro who won't train when it's windy, and I'll show you a soon-to-be-age-grouper. And by the way, when you do become an age-grouper, don't expect to win in my division just because you're a former pro. I train in the wind! And the Texas heat.

Which reminds me . . . Saturday I realized that I'm not so recovered after all. All I had was a 50 minute run, but my legs felt like bricks. It was hot (of course), and I was slow. I (stupidly) did not take water with me (it's only 50 minutes . . .), so I lost 4 pounds in that short amount of time. I ran the last mile (which is pretty much all uphill) in 7:38. Pretty off-pace, but as tired as my legs were, and as dehydrated as I was, I actually expected it to be slower. Sunday was a little better. I did a 90 minute brick (60 on the bike followed by a 30 minute run). Felt good on the bike, and heavy/sluggish on the run (again). And yes, it was hot. But I'll get over it. And, most importantly, I worked hard and finished all of my workouts.

This weekend we're headed to Colorado for the Triple Bypass. 10,000 feet of climbing over 120 miles. Plus, it might be windy, cold at times, hot at others, and possibly rainy. All the ingredients for an epic day. Too bad my "professional" friend from Boulder will miss it.

The Ironman . . . A Game of Inches

Ok, so the answer was no. I did not have a sub-10 hour Ironman in me. Yet. Regardless, it was a great trip! We had lots of fun in Seattle and Coeur d'Alene. I even bought a 17 pound Halibut at the Pike Place Fish Market in Seattle. That's the place where they throw the fish. We watched them throw all kinds of salmon, trout, etc., and they never dropped any of them . . . until my halibut. It actually knocked the guy down it hit him so hard, which was quite hilarious! (Why is it that we laugh at people when they fall???). Alas, we'll be eating a lot of halibut for a while! We've had one steak, and it was awesome, so we're looking forward to the rest. We'll see how excited we are about fresh halibut about 12 pounds from now!

On to the race report: I took a while to get this post up because I wanted to include a cool picture from the race when I posted this. But it's taking too long to get the pictures so you'll have to stay tuned for actual pictures of me and the course. This bear is the best pic I have so far. And he is a pretty good description of how ridiculous an Ironman can feel at times (before you get on to me for being sexist, I said "he" because I'm sure that a girl bear would not be so silly as to try something like that!). Although, I'm not sure what that bear is riding for (halibut perhaps??), he doesn't sound like he's giving up. And, fortunately, neither did I.

THE SWIM - The water was 59 degrees! The only colder race I've done was in 54 degree water, but that was a sprint, so I only spent about 15 minutes in the water at that one. This was over an hour. Regardless, the rest of the competitors made it very easy to forget about how cold the water was. That's because all 2300 of them were trying their hardest to drown me! This was by far the roughest swim I have ever been in. The water itself was relatively calm. The people were not! And with two loops, it never really opened up like the course at Arizona did. The course went out, made two left turns, and then straight back to shore to start the second lap. Because each segment was fairly short, and everyone wanted to hug the turn buoys (and drown me!), it was REALLY crowded for about 2 of the 2.4 miles. To top it off, I had no idea what my time was because my watch had been stopped at some point. I spent most of the day wondering what my actual swim time was, and being thankful that no one was successful in their repeated attempts to kick me in the face and drown me.

My Goal - 1:05
Lindsay's Guess - 1:10 ("but if the water's cold, it could slow you down a minute or two.")
Actual Time - 1:11:52

One other thing before we move on to the bike . . . the grass in the transition area is VERY slippery when your feet are numb and wet. And, guys, the volunteers REALLY don't want you running into the women's changing tent after the swim! Trust me, you will fall down if you try!

THE BIKE - After picking myself up off the ground, and finding the right changing tent, I managed to get in and out of T1 pretty quickly. Then it was on to the bike course. The first 10 miles or so is along the lake and is pretty fast. Then it turns North and slowly climbs out of town before getting to 20 miles or so of some fairly difficult rolling hills. I was out of the saddle a few times just to get up a couple of them. After the hills, the course goes back down for 10-15 miles to the end of the first loop. This section is a long gradual downhill, which I thought was going to be a great place to get my legs back under me for the second loop and to help prepare for the run in the last 15 miles of the route. However, the wind was blowing straight up the hill, which meant instead of cruising at 25+ mph, I was grinding it out at 18-20. This was actually the most difficult section of the entire course because of the wind, and partly because I was planning on it being the easiest section of the course. But you have to adjust to the conditions, and the best place to make up time on your competitors is when climbing and into a headwind ("everyone can go fast downhill and with the wind at their back!" Thanks, Lindsay). So I grinded it out at around 20 mph into the wind for about 40 minutes to finish the first loop. I ended up averaging 21 mph for the first loop, which was my goal for the entire race. I fell off pace on the second loop (and came out of the saddle on almost every climb -- somehow those "rolling hills" turned into mountains on the second loop!). I finished the bike in 5:36, "only" 16 minutes off my goal time.

My Goal - 5:20 (i.e., 21 mph)
Lindsay's Guess - "around 20 mph" (i.e., 5:36)
Actual Time - 5:36:21 (I think I should start trusting Lindsay more. Seriously, that's scary! Almost 7 hours into the day and she's off by 21 seconds?!)

THE RUN(s) - Yes, "Runs", but we'll get to that later. Started off strong. Ran the first mile in 7:30, then the usual leg cramping came. That happens when you have been riding that hard for that long and then you start running. It usually takes my quads a half mile or so to figure out how to run again. Sure enough, by the second mile marker, I was 15:10 into the run, and the cramping was gone . . . at least in my legs. I averaged 7:44 for the first 10k. Then I was forced to make my first of two stops in the port-a-pots. I spent 10-15 minutes total in port-a-pots over the next 5 miles. Hence, calling this section "THE RUN(s)." Yes, that is disgusting. And yes, I am childish. But that's the nicest way I can think of to describe what happened during those 15 minutes. After that, it's a little difficult to run strong again (excuse the pun, and my middle-schooler mentality). So I did some walking through the aid stations, and at the mile markers, and whenever the cramping returned, and up the steeper hills, until the last 5k.

THE LAST 5K - Like I've said before, I look for opportunities to test myself late in a race. In triathlons, they always write your age on the back of your calf so that you can tell who is in your age group while you're out there (which reminds me, at the CapTex in Austin, they also put the letter of your wave on your calf since you don't all start at the same time. I passed a girl on the run with "34 DD" written on the back of her leg. Again, I'm an immature middle-schooler, but I found that hilarious. And a little bit disturbing.). At Ironman events, they also print your name on your bib#. So you start to figure out late in the day who has been racing along side you all day long, and who you need to beat in order to place higher in your age group. Well, with less than 5k to go I start seeing lots of guys in my age group. One was "Matt from Boise" who was 31, and whom I had been going back and forth with since the early miles of the bike course. There were several others (one of which dropped us both in the last mile), but I felt like Matt would challenge me since we had seen each other all day. Sure enough, when I went by him, he stayed with me. We picked off several others the last two miles, but never caught the one guy that blew by us both. We were too far back for it to matter for a Kona spot. But holding off Matt from Boise definitely helped my confidence to know that I can "race" that late in an Ironman event. Of the 6 guys in my age group that were battling it out in the last 5k, I finished second. By 3 seconds.

It's unbelievable to me that you can start the day at edge of the water, swim for over an hour, bike for five and a half, go through the two transition areas, stop for unscheduled bathroom breaks, run for almost 4 hours, and finish 3 seconds ahead of the next person in your age group. It's amazing that a 10+ hour race can come down to just 3 seconds. Mere inches.

My Goal - 3:30 (i.e., 8 minute miles)

Lindsay's Guess - 3:20-3:30

Actual Time - 3:59:37 (I guess Lindsay didn't factor in my stubborn stomach.)

So I was off by 56 minutes for my "dream time." However, I was running strong before the stomach issues. I spent close to 15 minutes sitting in the port-a-pots. That slowed me down for the second half as well, which means I was definitely capable of running a 3:20-3:30 marathon. And really, who's going to question Lindsay's Guess when she was so close on the swim and bike? 10:15:23 took the last Kona slot in my age group. So without stomach issues, I'm around 15 minutes away from Kona. Mere inches.

Where can I find those inches? My first transition was good, my second should have been at least 2 minutes faster. I have no doubts that I can gain 15-20 minutes on the bike course next year. I know the course, and I'll be stronger. I didn't start to really ride to my potential in training this year until April. For next year, I'm starting this weekend. I have 51 weeks to find those inches.

People often ask me "what's next" after I finish an Ironman, as if it was a one time thing, and now it's time to move on. While it's easy to dwell on bad races for too long, it's just as easy to pridefully rest for too long after having a good race. Days can turn into weeks, weeks into months, and before you know it, you've lost fitness and almost have to start over. Even a BAD day at the Ironman is a GREAT day of training. About an hour after I finished the Ironman, Lindsay (genius that she is) sent me the following text message:

"Good work today Barry. Get some rest and hydrate. Let's catch up tomorrow to recap the race and begin preparing for the next!"

Exactly what I needed to hear. So, "what's next" for me is two more half ironmans and a marathon this year. Gotta find those inches!