Mental Training

Mental training via numbing of the mind.

I had a 5000 yard swim on the schedule today, normally I would have done it in the lake, but it's still cold and wet here in Seattle so I took to the pool. Down and back one hundred times, that must have killed some brain cells. I thought about adding another eighteen laps to make it an even three miles, but I came to my senses.

Onion Man

Bradley, Joe, Stephanie, Kris and I all drove across Washington state over Memorial Day weekend to compete in the Onion Man – an Olympic distance triathlon in Walla Walla. This was my first time to the home of the famous Walla Walla onion, and the greatest thing in American wines since Napa Valley. I was seriously impressed. Despite the imposing gray maximum security prison just outside of town, Walla Walla has the air of a touristy college town. I’m a sucker for a Main street lined with independent coffee shops and serious, yet affordable, dining.

We arrived on Saturday afternoon only to discover that Joe had left his wet suit hanging in his garage. Normally a wet suit is nice but not necessary; unfortunately that wasn’t the case for this race. Bradley and I took a dip Saturday afternoon; the water was cold, headache cold. The official position was fifty eight, but I think out in the middle the temperature was closer to fifty five. Water below sixty degrees is cold – really cold – and I was worried about Joe because even though he hadn’t admitted it at the time he was going to do the race with or without a neoprene second skin.

The race started at nine, but due to limited parking we arrived early: sometime around seven thirty. The weather didn’t look too bad; as a matter of fact it looked perfect: blue sky low fifties. On the downside a stiff wind was raking across the lake, if it’s blowing that hard down here in this hole I wondered, how is it going to be up there on the bike course. Oh well it’s the same conditions for everyone.
Luckily Joe managed to borrow a shortie off of this really talkative gal from Idaho; she was full of positive energy, just the kind of person you typically meet at one of these races. As I set up my transition area I couldn’t help but notice the serious nature of this race. I did a few races in the mid eighties and back then more than half of the folks showed up with mountain bikes, and only the really “serious” racers wore biking shoes. Those days are long gone, this transition area was a sea of carbon; you were the odd man out if you hadn’t dropped 3K on a set of racing wheels.

The gun blew at nine and we were off on a two lap swim. My golden rule of triathlon swimming is to never stop doing the crawl; just keep grabbing and pulling grabbing and pulling. If I keep swimming and get over the initial panic phase I know I’ll be able to hold my own, but if I let my nerves get the better of me it’ll be a struggle from beginning to end. Well sadly I took a few breaststrokes short of the first turn buoy; it was going to be a long swim. I struggled for about twenty minutes before finally turning it on as I headed for the boat ramp. My fingertips touched concrete and I jumped up and sprinted up the ramp convinced that I was nearly dead last.

When I reached the transition area it was nearly devoid of bicycles and so I buckled down my helmet strap, cinched up my bike shoes and took off ready to make up some time. Normally I’m so far back on the swim that I quickly start passing bikers, but by the time I’d gotten out of the park I’d only passed maybe two or three riders, and once I hit the rural road leading out to the turnaround two gals and a guy came by like I was on a tricycle. The first twelve miles were brutal: uphill into a headwind. Thankfully I didn’t turn on my bicycle computer because I didn’t need to be reminded that I was only doing fourteen miles an hour.

I finally reached the turnaround and put my back to the wind. I must have been knocking on the door of twenty five miles an hour. At about mile twenty the party ended as the headwind returned. I only passed one rider on the way back and I started to get worried as I was riding completely alone; where was everybody.
My left thigh has been bothering me and I fully intended to dismount the bike and call it a day, but as I neared the transition all the cowbells and shouts of encouragement got me thinking, well maybe I can try the run. I racked my bike and this big volunteer guy was yelling, “go man go” right into my ear; I got all excited and after only spending forty six seconds in transition I was out on the run course.
Over the course of the first mile I slowly reeled in a forty seven year old guy, I passed him, he passed me I passed him. I was having difficulty finding my stride due to the pain in my thigh, by mile two my left calf was cramped and by mile three my left foot was numb. I caught Bradley at the turnaround and two minutes later I spotted Stephanie coming on strong. I shouted a challenge for her to come catch me but she didn’t hear. Kris and Joe came by a little while later both looking good. The weather was warm but not hot and I passed the aid stations without stopping.
The final mile was on a rough trail and I had to keep a close eye on my footing as I didn’t want to twist an ankle due to my numb foot. The forty seven year-old dude came by with two hundred meters to go, he must have been on my butt for the last four miles. I tried to stay with him, but he was a little stronger and crossed the finish a second or two in front of me.

Everyone ended up with a good race, Stephanie took fourth in a very competitive field and Bradley took home a wine glass for finishing number one in the Clydesdale division. Despite some potentially damaging pain I’m glad I did the race.

Turn the Page

As my allotted time ticks away I’ve come to view my life as a series of short stories. The tales may all have the same author and the observant eye may detect commonalities, but each story has its own opening sentence and final punctuation mark. I’ve discovered that the trick to a happy successful life is recognizing when to end one story and when to start another.

A good gambler pushes away from the table before the deck goes sour – anybody can walk away from a poker table broke, and every once in a while even the most inept player takes the jackpot, but on balance it’s the guy with a good nose and the discipline to act on his instincts that wins the big game. You gotta know when to let go, when to move on.

As the Couer d’Alene Ironman quickly approaches I realize that the endurance sports phase of my life is quickly coming to an end. For the past twenty years I’ve considered higher, further, longer to be better: if you’re going to climb, climb the high mountains, if you’re going to run triathlons run the Ironman.

I don’t have a lot of natural athletic ability but I am mentally strong - I can pedal a bike for ten straight hours, and I can haul a big pack up a snow slope as good as anyone – and this is why I gravitated towards the go long instead of the go fast endeavors. Unfortunately, however, being able to push through boredom and pain is a double-edged sword. Your mind tells you to stop long before your body really needs to, and so the line between being smart and being a pussy becomes blurred. Every successful endurance athlete has pushed through pain and obviously it is possible to push too far.

Perhaps I have pushed too far; perhaps it’s time to start another story

On Competition

I recently ran the Run to Remember in downtown Chicago, it was my first experience with a 5K road race. The race started at Soldier Field and went north up the shoreline past the Shedd Aquarium and up towards the Loop before turning south and heading back to the start/finish. My brother and I arrived late and so I lined up at the rear of the nearly four thousand person crowd, but as I looked around I noticed that most of the folks surrounding me were pushing strollers or wearing basketball shoes. Thus began my forward migration. As the introduction festivities were going on I wove through the crowd finally ending up about two hundred runners from the front. I could see that the fifty or so people in the very front were serious short course racers so I figured I’d play it safe and hang back a bit.

I’m accustomed to longer races where I have a good mile or two to get warmed up and to find my pace; not so in a 5K race. When the gun blew I started fast and tried to go faster. The first mile was crowded as I had to deal with slow people in front and the gallop and gasp people pushing me from the back, but still I managed a 6:40 first mile. I hit the turnaround at 9:45 and pushed past mile two at 13:40. I was starting to fade, but worked hard to maintain a sub seven pace. There was a slight hill coming around the Aquarium and I even though I lost a few seconds I managed to pass three for four runners who had been just out of reach for most of the race. I finished at 20:32 and was happy to average sub seven minute miles.

Instead of my typical apprehension and thoughts of “why am I here” I’m starting to savor the spirit of competition. Despite other’s claims to the contrary I’m not a very competitive guy; what I mean is that I’m all too willing to accept the notion that other folks are better than I am. I’m looking forward to putting my new competitive spirit to the test during the upcoming Onionman triathlon.

What It Is That You Can Do

Lately I’ve been reading that endurance sports are detrimental to “good” health, and as much as I’d like to say “aw what a bunch of horse crap,” I guess I reluctantly agree. I say reluctantly because it seems impossible to conclude that the negative effects of endurance sports outweigh the positives: for example does the positive self-image and nutritional awareness that comes with the completion of an Ironman outweigh the physical toll the race takes on your body? It’s also inaccurate to generalize: for some endurance sports may be a big mistake, but for others, those who have been blessed with a high tolerance body and a tough mind, going long isn’t just ordinary it’s necessary.

Really I think it comes down to the difference of living versus being alive. I know it’s cliché but life really is made up of moments; searching a rock face for the next hold, wondering if a snow bridge was going to hold my weight, standing on the beach at 6:59 before an Ironman, or meeting my son and daughter for the first time, these were the moments in which I was really alive. Just existing on this planet for 102 years isn’t worth a shit if you don’t get off the couch.

A life of comfort isn’t worth living. This statement seems paradoxical in an age where comfort is king. Advertisers try to convince us that being uncomfortable is bad: smooth out the ride, take the easy way; endurance sports are the polar opposite. Endurance is to endure: endure pain, endure fright, endure monotony, endure your dark side. Endurance is also to overcome: overcome pain, overcome fright, overcome monotony, overcome your dark side. Nobody finishes the Ironman as the same person who heard the canon go off at seven AM.

A friend once asked me, “why does everything you do have to be so hard?” I do hard things precisely because they are hard, what is easy isn’t lasting, what is easy isn’t worthwhile. Perhaps endurance sports are bad for my health, but I’m willing to take the risk as I feel the pros outweigh the cons.

Nothing Is Free

I knew a guy who needed a big half inch drive drill for one job so he went down to the Home Depot bought the most expensive one on the shelf, used it and then took it back. He was very proud of himself for “sticking it to the man.” Something about the transaction bothered me, but, like most things, it took me a while to figure out what that something was.

Me I’m a rule follower, and I guess it bugs me when I see folks who don’t play by the rules being subsidized by those who do. The use of that drill wasn’t free, Home Depot just passed the cost of that returned item right on to me, and everyone else who plays by the rules. The Home Depot drill is a small example; a bigger example is the subprime mortgage mess, but it’s still the same principle: take what you can get screw the rest.

I’m a big believer in the Buddhist philosophy that all actions are interconnected. How you behave has a very real impact on others. We Americans are having a hard time realizing that there is no such thing as a free lunch, worse yet there’s no such thing as a cheap lunch or even an easy lunch. Our addiction to oil isn’t free it’s paid for in the blood of American servicemen and women. Our lust for cheap goods manufactured in third world countries is paid for lost jobs and foreign countries that now have us by the short hairs. Our love of fast and easy pseudo-food is paid for by through the roof health insurance rates and tax-payer funded prescription drugs.

The screw you attitude worked for nineteenth and twentieth century America, but in a twenty first century world that is literally falling apart, both physically and economically we here in the States need to get our act together and pull for the common good.

It's Like This

Lately I’ve been reading about the financial crisis with the vain hope of trying to understand just a little bit about what went on and what went wrong. My conclusion is that two words can really sum up what happened: recklessness and leveraging. In an attempt to relate this debacle to the real world of ordinary folks I’ve come up with a couple of analogies:

Recklessness

Say you work for a small company and the entire future of that business rests on getting an important document across town, your boss gives you the document along with twenty bucks and says “get this to our client in one hour.” Now you have three options: do it yourself, hire a reputable currier, or hire a will work for food guy off the street.

You decide to go for latter of the three choices and pay a homeless guy five bucks and entrust him with the document, and to make matters worse you don’t even check to see if he has a vehicle with which to transport himself across town – you just believe him when he says he can do the job. You then go off to a restaurant and spend the remaining fifteen bucks on a ham sandwich and a beer all the while patting yourself on the back on how smart your decision was. An hour later you get back to the office to find out that the document wasn’t delivered, and that your company lost the contract and is consequently going out of business.

Now many right wing columnists – Charles Krauthammer for example – would argue that the responsibility for the demise of your company rests squarely on the shoulders of the homeless guy. I on the other hand say it’s your fault: you made a reckless decision with the prospect of making big rewards (i.e. fifteen bucks and a relaxing lunch), so take your lumps.

Leverage

Leveraging is basically an attempt to maximize return on a bet, so gambling is an natural analogy. Say you have $100 and you want to bet on a football game. The odds are 2:1 and the prospect of winning $200 doesn’t seem appealing so you bet $1000. You win, now you have $2100. You have a party and blow $1100, now you have $1000. Along comes another 2:1 bet, you’re feeling lucky so you bet $10,000. Yea you win again, now you have $21,000. You need to celebrate so you buy an $11,000 car get drunk and wreck it, you have no insurance, and so you’re out the value of the car, now you have $10,000. Well you know where to get more money, so you find another 2:1 sure thing and bet $100,000. Oops your tip wasn’t any good and now you owe the full $100,000, which means you’re short $90,000.

Now you’re in deep trouble because the bookie is going to fit you for some lead shoes, so you go to your father-in-law and demand $90,000. Now obviously your father-in-law doesn’t want to give you the money but you point out that he’s getting off cheap for $90,000 because if you end up at the bottom of the river he’s going to have to support his daughter and his grandkids, and by the time you count in college he’s going to be in for much more than $90,000. Now your father-in-law isn’t a rich guy, but he sees the logic in your argument so he gets a loan and bails you out.

You would think that the father-in-law wouldn’t just give you the money, but would instead insist on some conditions, namely that you stop gambling what you can’t afford to lose. I think it’s safe to say that there are only 41 people in the country who wouldn’t insist on some conditions when giving out the $90,000, unfortunaely all 41 of those folks ended up as United States Senators.