August 11, 2011

Training

I started training for my first Ironman in seventeen years on January 1^st, 2012. I was 42-years-old and weighed 217 pounds. I had once run a 10:26 in the Marines, where working out was part of the job description. Now I sat at a desk staring at computer screens. Plus I had family and coaching duties—I have two boys (9 and 6)—longer hours at work, and a book I was finishing. Time management became the key training component.

 For the next 7 months my workouts emphasized improvisation over planning, and intensity over endurance. I already possessed the endurance to complete the race (2.4 mi swim/112 mi bike/26.2 mi run). Or, properly put, I believed I could finish the race from a cold start, which is what matters most. The New York Ironman course looked challenging. A dirty Hudson swim, a mind-numbing bike course, and a very hilly marathon over equally obscure ground, held in the August heat. I figured it would come down to grit as much as training.

 I tracked the workouts with my Garmin to memorialize the 2012 training program. I’m working toward an Ironman Kona qualification sometime in my old age, either in 2014 or 2019-20+. Whether that’s realistic given the astonishing age-group time standards is not the point. I’ve found that falling short of big goals is revelatory.

 For my seven-month workup I averaged 6.5 hours of training-per-week. I focused heavily on biking, my weak leg. As a result I completed just a single “long” run—15 miles—and two 13.1 runs, one in February and another in July. I swam fewer than ten times in 2012. Monthly breakout in hours-per-week: January: 4, February: 4, March: 5, April: 7, May: 7, June: 7, July: 10.

 By late July, I weighed 196 pounds, my lowest weight since the summer of 1988. I expected to complete this comeback race around 11 hours.

 Hypocritical Race Rules

I read the race rules and planned to use a small personal speaker system to pass the time on the bike. A few weeks before the race, the head referee posted his own rules banning all MP3 players. I disagreed with but understood the “dangerous” rationale for music during the bike leg. But what danger did Ipods pose on the marathon? The first few Ironman races featured men with boom boxes strapped to their bikes. Listening to music while on the run affected no other competitors. I viewed this as a personal encroachment by bureaucrats who sought to protect me from myself. There’s a lot of that these days. Then I discovered the earbud headset I owned was branded and licensed by the Ironman Corporation. I sent the following email to their branding department:
Sent: Tuesday, July 03, 2012 2:18 PM
To: Bill XX
Cc: athlete services
Subject: I ronman Yurbuds versus Race Rules

Bill this August I’ll race an Ironman for the first time since 1994. In those days (as I remember) during the run it was commonplace to see Walkmans. So I was surprised to learn that headphones have now been banned for even the run portion, which strikes me as over-the-top. But in line with the global trend toward overcontrol.

What baffles me, though, is the fact that Ironman has a licensing agreement with an in-ear headphone company, and markets this product on the same website that implies headphones are somehow a danger while running. Or impure. At best this is a case where the rules cut against the grain of common practice, including that of your current champion, who trains with earphones.

At worst it’s disingenuous. Ironman should certainly lever its powerful brand. But outlawing the products it sells is a triumph of either business hypocrisy or fatalistic governors.

I vote to change the rule. Allowing Yurbuds in races allows us to race as we train. It impinges not on others. Those who make this claim are themselves impinging.

For your consideration, Owen West

Ironman responded bizarrely:

 Owen,

 Love your passion for Ironman – and great to hear you are back racing them.    Are you racing Ironman Louisville?   I love that event – have ridden the bike course – and find the beauty awesome.

Appreciate your note.     I don’t know if you have tried the Ironman headphones – but they are awesome.     I was just running yesterday on the treadmill ( it was a bit hot for me for an outdoor run) – and loving the tunes.    They don’t fall out – which is quite nice.

Hope to see you at a race soon!

I wrote back:

 Bill thanks for your note but you avoided my question. I’d delete the email except for its Orwellian theme. To answer your question: yes I own Yurbuds.

Can you please forward this to someone on the race rules committee? Why in the world are they banned for the run?

 I never heard back.

 The Course

I was disappointed with the course from the moment the maps were published. It should have been labeled the Palisades Ironman. Most of the race was in New Jersey, with a stubby marathon finish on a narrow running path in NYC. I prefer ocean swimming to flat water, and worried that pollution or currents might shorten the Hudson River swim.

The sewage spill as the race director seemed to see it...

 Days before the race, several hundred thousand gallons of sewage were dumped upstream of the course. The race organizer gave an interview indicating the swim might have to be cancelled. I was stunned, and sent the following email to fellow participants in hopes of reaching a race staffer:

 Sports Promoter Korff sounds more like in-house attorney than expedition leader in the troubling Bloomberg article (below).

Korff says that delaying the decision until race morning—to maximize the potential to swim—would be “ridiculous,” causing stress when “everybody is wondering, ‘What do I do?’ and nobody sleeps and everybody has a rotten day.” This indicates a monstrous gulf between the athletes, who want to race a real Ironman, and risk-averse organizers. Bureaucrats want decisions made for them, as early as possible. Now we’re all subjected to some arbitrary parts-per-million measurement on a plastic stick dipped at an arbitrary time.

The article is also troubling for what Korff does not say. He lobbied for years to bring Ironman to NYC (New Jersey, more accurately), then charged athletes the highest entry fee ever to race. This brings a lot of clout. Yet he makes no mention of persuading the County of Westchester to delay its dump until Saturday morning. Or alternative swim locations. Or our own chlorine dump. After all, he has barges and ferries—and a million dollars—at his disposal.

But this assumes there’s a health hazard beyond the nanny state headline. The fact is, pollution is part of any Hudson swim. I’d choose an hour swim in a few million gallons of chlorinated crud dumped 20 miles upstream in a river that flows 180 million gallons/hour over a marathon in Bejing or a swim in Ironman Sri Lanka or Cebu City. There were always risks with the Hudson swim. Let’s not go soft now that doing it on the cheap is exposed.

However they rule, I just hope they don’t kick out those of us who arrive at Ross Dock by swimming. This is supposed to be Ironman, not Class Action Man. Consider this my waiver if I don’t emerge.

 Fortunately the swim was held in the end.

 The bike. Tri-state triathletes had for years whispered about an Ironman bike course encircling Manhattan—or mimicking the crowd-packed NYC marathon—to help pass the miles. Instead the bike course was not one but two out-and-backs on the non-descript Palisades Parkway. Worse, the marathon also included two New Jersey out-and-backs, and an uncreative two-mile snake lap that appeared to have been lazily tacked on near the finish line as if the designer had miscalculated the distance.

 The only positive was the marathon terrain. It looked more difficult than any stand-alone marathon I’d run. With steep hills for the first 17 miles, including a stair climb up to the GW Bridge, it was a challenge befitting a restless dad trying to see what was left in the tank after all these years.

 Race Day

We were ordered to take 0400 ferries from Manhattan to Jersey. I thought that was a bit much for a 0700 start. Especially considering I cannot sleep the night before big adventures, and am forced to cling to inactivity in lieu of REM. At 0430 I drove my car to Fort Lee, parked in an Econolodge, and hiked down a cliff trail to the start area in the dark. The path was blocked (see picture) but the post was unmanned.

The barrier at the trail head

It was an extremely humid morning—about 90%–with temperatures somewhere in the mid-70s and rising. The forecast called for thunder showers and 85 degree highs. Unfortunately the sky was pretty clear. I drank steadily before the swim, wondering why so many chose to suit up in rubber while standing in line for 45 minutes to hop on the ferries. I was sweating dressed only in jammers, my pale skin reflecting the thin morning light—and disgusting some tri-women accustomed to the typical tan gods, I’m sure. The worst thing about triathletes is the neverending conversation stream about workouts. I fell prey, if only to explain to our little queue that like chickens, Irishmen have surprisingly strong legs.

 I took two 24-ounce bottles onto the swim start ferry. Many athletes were out of water. I was asked if I was going to drink both bottles. Actually, I was. Working in those conditions my sweat rate is over four pounds-per-hour (64 ounces). I wanted a last minute cram. But over the course of twenty years I had been several times saved by the generosity of other athletes. I gave up the bottle.

 Swim

I suited up just a few minutes before our ferry hit the start barge. A tall guy identified himself as a former NCAA swimmer and asked if I could break an hour for the 2.4 mile swim. I told him I was close, so we agreed to work together at the outset. He pointed out that we could save time by hugging the shore, a straighter line to the first transition (T1).

 Ahead of us I could see wounded swimmers, including several double-amputees, clawing across the water in the grey light. The inspiration settled my stomach. At some point, my body would try to trick me into thinking longterm damage was

A wounded athlete setting the example for both preparation and grit

imminent. Those athletes ahead didn’t listen. Neither would I.

 In we went. There was plenty of room to swim and the course was very well-marked. We quickly passed a kid with a GoPro camera, and crossed halfway at 25 minutes. I knew then that the current was strong. I glanced at the buoys back in the center of the river and spotted the kid with the GoPro. The NCAA swimmer and I had picked a line out of the best flow. I alerted the swimmer, who exclaimed, “There’s the dude we passed with the GoPro!” We broke back toward river center and again passed the kid. I lost the big swimmer with a half-mile to go. I finished in :47:28 minutes, faster on the second half. It was clear to me that everyone was pulling along at a close pace, like logs floating downstream. I estimate that I gained 13 minutes over a typical swim because of the current, but poorer swimmers gained much more, and better swimmers gained less.

The Bend in the NYC Ironman course

Ride

The volunteers and race staff were typically terrific in helping us get ready to ride. I poured myself into a tight white tri-suit, bought for reflection, not taste, and managed to ride onto the course about 7 minutes later. I’m a slow transition. I soft-pedaled up the steep hill onto the Palisades in an effort to drive down my heartrate. By the time I hit the flat of the highway I was under 160, an improvement over the Half Ironman I’d done a month earlier when I pedaled in the 170s for 20+ minutes.

 To my welcome surprise, there was plenty of room to maneuver, and almost no drafting. I encountered several race marshals (referees). The single group of three athletes drafting that I saw was flagged. The road was undulating and nondescript, as boring as I’d imagined. A few scattered pockets of ardent family members (mine stayed home) were gathered at exit ramps, but overall the rolling terrain gave no quarter. Neither did the sun. The clouds were packing up for the day and we were already at 80 degrees. I could feel my back heating up as the ride went on.

 This meant two things. First, I upped my fluid intake to 50-60 ounces-per-hour, dousing myself with a water bottle at each aid station (every ~10-15 miles), and I took the time to stop at the halfway mark for my special needs bag with my two bottles of cappuccino Perpetuem. I’m not picky when it comes to food, but I immediately vomited the first warm cappuccino swig, which had been heating in the sun. I tossed the two bottles and nursed my remaining water bottle for that 10-mile block. I was able to get salt tabs down for the remainder of the bike, but each pill took some effort not to puke. I needed the salt. In 2010 and 2011 the guys at work had convinced me to race a Tour de France mountain stage with them. Both times I had cramped on the final hills. I was determined to keep the salt level high in my system as an experiment. Also, after a decade on Lipitor, I was off the drug—another experiment to get rid of cramping.

 The second thing I did on the bike was slow down. This sounds obvious. Most of the athletes riding away from me were better trained and probably had more race experience. But I know heat degradation, and believed the marathon course could prove a killer. I didn’t want to be limping across the GW Bridge in the sun at mile 17. The first third of the bike was done at heartrate 145, as planned. I wanted to step on it and get to my aerobic zone top of 155, but I decided to keep it in reserve for the marathon. I held the same steady 145 pace throughout.

Hydrated and reflective, if not aero and effective

I did not have a good sense for how fast I was riding. I was focused on HR.

 Nearing the end of the bike, there were moments of familiar discomfort in my guts from the exertion. My groin was crushed. I was going numb every five to ten minutes in the aero position by Mile 80, standing to shake myself out. My calves and one hammy started the familiar pre-cramp twitchings. I choked down more salt tabs and finished the bike in 5:47, a 19.5mph average, but with all my slowing at aid stations my riding pace was closer to 20 mph.

Run

There are two methods to prepare to run a marathon after a 112-mile bike. The first is to complete a series of long “brick workouts” in training—riding 75+ miles and then running for ~5 to 10. I chose the second route, common among adventure racers: build such a hatred for whatever athletic discipline you’re doing at the time that you can’t wait for the follow-on leg.

 I took the last few pedal strokes of 2012 with little nostalgia. I’m no fan of biking. Most of my long bikes had come during morning commutes from Greenwich to lower Manhattan, and I wasn’t going to miss the zero-dark-thirty wakeups. I handed the Cervelo P2 to a volunteer, hoping future races would elongate the swim and replace biking with kayaking. With boom boxes allowed.

 I found my run bag and in 8 minutes ran out of the 100-degree changing tent onto the humid 85-degree marathon course. I was wearing knee high compression socks to fight off recurrent calf strains and heavy cushioned shoes. I asked volunteers to slather sun block all over my shoulders. It did little good. By the end of the marathon I was badly sunburned, notwithstanding all the protection I applied before and during the race.

The steep cliff overlooking T1/T2

 I walked up the first steep hill to River Road trying to force down a bottle of salty Infinit. I struggled to keep it down. I started in at a slow 9 minute-per-mile trot, trying to get my heartrate below 155. I soon abandoned heartrate guidance. The course was so hilly that I’d spike to 165+ trudging up, then drop to 145-, unwilling to let my ostrich legs wheel back down the steep sections to make up for lost time. I didn’t want to damage what little muscle I had left with micro tears. Not yet.

 By the 4 Mile mark I had my rhythm. I was running 8:40 miles. It was a hard course, the foliage trapping the steam coming off the blacktop. At each aid station I took the time to stuff my hat and tri suit with ice—and suck down cola, Perform and water. At around the 7 Mile mark I was told the next few aid stations had run out of ice. We Irish aren’t built for heat. Or biking, but that was over now. I doused myself with every extended cup in those lines, the sugar and salt drying in thick streaks down my reddening shoulders.

 Many ripped athletes were walking the uphills now, some saying that they’d never walked a run in their lives. When I crossed the halfway mark at 13 miles I was surprised to see I was dragging ass at an average 9-minute mile pace (4 hour marathon). Though I was running 8:40s, it was taking longer to walk through the aid stations than I’d anticipated. And the hills were catching up to my invisible calves.

 At this point I allowed myself a glance at the overall elapsed time. In endurance sport you have to learn how to bend time. One way I do it is to ignore the total elapsed time for most of the race and focus on small intervals or speed, performing the mind twisting expected finish calculation only as a gift when you’re entering the body v. emotion war zone. It took me a while, but I figured out if I kept up 9-minute miles I was on 10:45 finish pace.

I attempted another hazy thought thread. I had planned to swim an hour, but finished in :47. If the swim had been currentless (fair), I thought, I was actually on 10:58 pace. Now, somewhere I knew the rigorous marathon course was taking back all 13 minutes and then some over a typical Ironman course, but I managed to stuff it away as an excuse. In my head I planted the following spur: I had to go under 10:47 today to be able to look people in the eye and say I went under 11 hours. I needed to keep the pressure on.

Ironman NYC: Easiest Swim, Stout Bike, Toughest Marathon Course

Climbing out of River Road to the GW Bridge at Mile 16 I was hit with blinding sunshine. Had someone offered sunscreen I would have stopped for a coating. Climbing the stairs up to the walkway took more off the clock—about two minutes—than I’d hoped. With ten miles to go, every minute counted now. I knew we wouldn’t make up the time with a steady decent on the New York side of the bridge. Indeed, with more vertical stairs, we’d lose more horizontal time.

 Halfway across the bridge, I felt the familiar pang in my right forefoot of a recurring metatarsal stress fracture. I curled my toes, hoping it was just nerve inflammation. Didn’t really matter. Then my kidneys had a sensational cramping. That concerned me. I’d stressed them in a long ago Eco Challenge (2000), and this stabbing felt similar. I crossed the border into New York and vowed to re-enter Jersey only in the event of a Springsteen concert.

 The sun was clean now and a hot southwest breeze had kicked up. Turning south onto the Hudson running path along the West Side Highway with 9 miles to go the headwind was significant. I was familiar with the path—it’s the trail we Greenwich bike commuters use when we ride into work—and knew the wind angle would not relent. I had to speed up to beat 11 hours (well, 10:47). By the 20 Mile mark I was in pain. Separate from the nauseated feeling one carries during these things, I knew my kidney pain was not general. I had not urinated in over three hours and small adjustments to my upper body angle were met with stabs. I tried to compartment the pain as ‘smell-the-barn’ shutdown, when the mind starts to release its grip on a body in extremis, but this seemed real.

 I was passing quite a few triathlon builds and focused on them. I’m a good wind shield. I asked the athletes if they wanted to draft an 8:30 mile pace, and five or so accepted. They were interesting. All of them said it was the hardest run course they had encountered in Ironman, but then again if I was passing these clearly fit athletes with a big limp, that was self-evident. Every athlete was surprised that the organizers didn’t even shut down the path. We limped around oblivious dog-walkers, kids trying to race us, and cookouts. The best part about the course was a life-sized cardboard silver medal-winning gymnast whose bubble caption read: MCKAYLA IS NOT IMPRESSED BY YOU GEEKS.

 Right on.

 At Mile 22 I lost the ability to socialize. It felt like a squirrel was biting its way into my lower back. I had passed close to two hundred runners but tiny victories no longer provided adrenaline. I needed the heavy psychological artillery to fight through the final 36 minutes at pace. I unearthed some dark thoughts and used three particularly distressful fantasies to keep my legs turning over.

 I crossed the line in 10:46:52. I felt the familiar mix of satisfaction and regret that comes with a journey completed.

Ironman NYC Finish Line

 The dripping Coke can felt good in my hand but I couldn’t drink. I poured it across my forehead and limped down to the ferry. Riding across the Hudson to fetch my bike, I concentrated on the sound of water lapping the hull. No bladder response. It was dark by the time I piled my wetsuit and running stuff atop my aero bars in a giant heap. I slipped on the headlamp from the morning’s infiltration but fell once during the 5 mph ascent to River Road, trying to pin the stuff with my chin. I felt the urge to urinate. Even in the spotlight the stream was dark as cola. I was working.

I had parked in the Fort Lee Econolodge. I pedaled past a few runners sticking it out, I stuffed the bike inside the car and sat through an hour’s worth of bridge traffic, fighting nausea on the drive home. I didn’t feel quite right all evening.

By morning I was eating and drinking with some residual kidney pain. I went in for a urinalysis. Citing the presence of a poisonous byproduct of physical stress called myoglobin, the doc diagnosed me with: “exertional rhabdomyolysis.” Essentially I was underprepared for the damage I caused, and my kidneys had begun to malfunction. No surprise there. In 2014 I will run more. But training is delineated by “sessions.”

 A race is a race.

6-year-old Ryan getting after it...

Gavin hammers the line

Big brother Gavin (9) helps in transition

…and skipping out on island vacations in the guise of acclimitization (July 17-21) is off limits.

Took this lobster in self-defense

Starting weight (first three morning average): 201

Ending weight: 197

Weekly Avg Work: 9.75 hours

Estimated Ironman finishing time: 11 hours (1:10/5:45/3:45/:15)

Hardest workout: All-night ride in 95+ degree heat

July 1: Mossman Half Ironman 5:02 (penalized further 4 mins for music+side drafting together) in 75 to 90 degree heat. Pretty hilly. Short swim. Hammy cramps starting mile 7.

July 3: Easy commute 40.5 miles spin/ 2:30

July 5: All Night Ride in 90-100 degree heat/7.5 hours/115 miles/15 mph

July 7: 9.79 mi run in 90 degree heat/1:19/8:06 avg/175 HR drifts to 192

July 9: 9 mi commute run to train station/1:10/159 HR

July 10: 50 mile ride commute to work/2:46/17.9 mph/132 avg HR

July 12: 44.75 mi ride home/2:50/1:36 HR

July 14: BIG workout. 1 mile swim (19:45); 15 mi bike easy/15.5 mi run (2:24/HR 150/9:71 min miles)

July 17: 1 mi swim (25 mins) Turks & Caicos

July 18: 20 mins recline/20 mins sit up bike/20 mins run hard

July 19: 9 mile beach run easy

July 20: 1 hour cybex bike/190 watts/HR 150; 1 mile swim in fins

July 21: 6 mile run, light weights in 90 degree heat

July 22: 1.5 hour indoor aero ride, HR 130-158/5.5 mile run HR 155-170

July 25: 49 mi commute/2:40/HR 134/18.3 mph

July 27: 68 mi commute home/3:43/132 HR/18.2 mph

July 29: Greenwich Triathlon/ 1:13/HR 172

July 30: Commute run 9.25 miles/1:08/HR 154/7:19 pace

July 31: 49 mile commute/2:40/HR 140/18.2 mph

Commute by train, or...

Starting weight (first three morning average): 205

...at 0415 in the rain?

Ending weight: 201

Total workouts: 15 (32 hours)

Weekly Avg Work: 7.5 hours

Estimated Ironman finishing time: 11.2 hours (1:10/:09/6:00/:08/3:45)

Hardest workout: 70 mile commute home in 90-degree heat.

I certainly expected to be up to 10 hours of training-per-week by now. But between my high school reunion and flag football playoffs (I coach), I lost my opportunity for big weekend workouts and had to use commuting time instead, which is much tougher. Now I’m caught between my inclination to pound out a seriously hard July and all the pundits who recommend a deep taper before the Ironman. I don’t have enough miles to do a progressive decline anyway. Might as well ramp up. See you on July 31. I hope to be averaging at least 10-hours-per-week.

June 1: 1500 m swim/4 mile run

June 5: 41-mile bike home/2:28/HR 145

June 7: 3 hour computrainer/HR 145-160/185 watts

June 8: Cook Your Buns 3 mile race/6:16 pace/190 HR

June 9: 30 mile ride easy TT/6 mile run easy on Ironman course

June 12: 9.6 mile run to train station/1:11

June 13: 2 hours computrainer HR 145

June 14: 9.6 mile run to train/1:13

June 15: 20 mile ride easy after bike fitting in aero/1.25 hours/HR 150

June 16: 2.5 hour computrainer/HR 145-155

June 19: 40.5 mile bike into work/2:15

June 22: 70 mi bike home/ HR 131/ 4:17

June 24: BIG workout 1 hour swim/50 mile aero bike/5.5 mi run up Palmer’s Hill

June 26: 50 mile (2:50) bike into work

June 29: Lactate Test–45 mins ramp up every 4 mins HR 125/135/150/165/175/180/190/197

Ryan Atkinson and Jake Gearhart at the end of 100-miles

...while the boys have the skills for fun sports!

Starting weight (first three morning average): 207

Ending weight: 205

Total workouts: 16

Weekly Avg Work: 7 hours

Longest bike: 105 mile Gran Fondo race

Longest run: 9.5 miles

Estimated 56-mile stand alone ride pace: 18.5 mph

Estimated 13.1 mile stand alone running race pace: 7:00

Estimated Ironman finishing time: 11.75 hours (1:20/6:30/3:45)

Hardest workout: Gran Fondo–105 miles.

I’d hoped to get in more weekly work by now–and hit 10 hours of training per week–but it was impossible between work and kids’ sports. It was playoff time in Greenwich and I was having too much fun coaching up the two flag football teams to sneak in big weekend workouts except for Fondo. With two months to go before Ironman, I could be in real trouble if it’s a hot day. If it’s cool, I will muddle through in under 12 hours. But hard workouts in June and July can still change that.

May 2: 9.5 mi run into work after Carry the Load relay leg/ 160 HR/1:10

May 4: 40 mile ride home from work/2:27

May6: Greenwich Biathlon 2.5/10 mi ride/2.5….58:45/HR 180

May 10: 9.6 mi run into work/166 HR…40 mile ride home/2:27

MAy 12: Riverside 3 mile run/18:49/ 6:16 pace/HR 188

May13: 1.5 hours aero computrainer/205 watts/HR155-170 slow drift

May 17: 20 mins Level 14 Star TRac 310 watts/HR 170-188

May19: 20 mins easy swim drills

May 20: 100 mile Gran Fondo/8500 feet of climbing/7 hours

May 23: 42 mile ride into work (2:17)…Afternoon 7500 M erg 28:48 (1:55)

May 24: 9.68 mi run to 125th Street/1:12/ 7:30 pace

May 25: 1500 yard swim in jammers: 24:45 (1:40 per 100)

May 26: 1:30 computrainer/188 watts/HR 155-165…3 mile run HR 180/slow pace. (Unacclimatized to 85 degrees and could not hold HR down)

May 28: 1:30 computrainer/200 wats/HR 160-185

May 29: 1 hour stair stepper/155 HR

May 30: 45 mins recline bike/HR155 and 170

Bahamas, 2006

Bahamas, 2012...Live now, or it's gone.

April Summary

Starting weight (first three morning average): 210

Ending weight: 207

Total workouts: 19

Weekly Avg Work: 7 hours

Longest bike: 96 mile commute home from Wall Street via Bear Mountain

Longest run: 12 miles slow

Actual bike watts/1.5 hours (aero): 199 watts

Estimated 56-mile stand alone ride pace: 18.5 mph

Estimated 13.1 mile stand alone running race pace: 7:00

Estimated Ironman finishing time: 11. hours (1:20/6:30/3:45)

Hardest workout: Crank the Cank computrainer at 215 watts; finished, but barely at 190+ HR

April saw an increase in Ironman training from 5 hours-per-week to 7 hours-per-week, largely due to a 96 mile slog with Gerheart and Atkinson from Wall Street home via Bear Mountain one night. We didn’t even climb the hill and were still fairly thrashed and late for dinner. The Eleuthera, Bahamas vacation in the middle of April was probably good for acclimatization but little else–the lobsters were scarce this year and we saw few spear-able fish…and no sharks! Either the locals had come through the reefs just ahead of us or I’m worried at the boys’ prospects in a decade. Fisheries management is not a strong suit of any country today.

Fruitless in fishy flesh only. We had an adventure, and a long swim for an 8-year-old.

Apr 1: 50 mile road loop/ 17 mph/3:20/HR 140-170

Apr 3: 42 mile ride into work/2:17

Apr 5: 4x5min intervals cycletrainer/330 watts/ HR 175-190

Apr 7: 9.08 mile run Bahamas/8:18 pace/HR 174 avg

Apr 9: 9.18 mi run/7:45 pace/161 average

Apr 11: 8 mi run Bahamas ( with 2 one mile intervals)/7:47 pace/168

Apr 13: 1 hour LifeFitness 230 watts/155-185

Apr 14: 5X3 minute cycling interval LifeFitness 330 watts

Apr 16: 4X2.5 minutes Star TRac Level 17/440 watts

Apr 17: 7500 meter erg/ 29:25/1:57 average

Apr 18: 40 mile ride into work/ 2:15 hours

Apr 20: 96 mile ride from Wall Street/6 hours

Apr 21: 12 mile run/ 8:30 pace/155 HR

Apr 22: 1:30 ride steady state computrainer aero/HR 160-180

Apr 27: 20 mins level 14 Star Trac/ 10 mins level 13/HR 180+

Apr 28: 6 mile run/7:30 pace/165 HR

Apr 29: 1:25 Crank the Kank computrainer/ 210 watts/ 165-195 HR

Apr 30: 42 mile ride into work

The Basement "Spa"

March Summary

Starting weight (first three morning average): 214

Ending weight: 210

Total workouts: 16

Weekly Avg Work: 5 hours

Actual bike watts/1.5 hours (aero): 199 watts (terrible)

Estimated Ironman finishing time: 11.5 hours (1:20/6:30/3:40)

Hardest workout: Crank the Cank computrainer at 230 watts—DNF (blown up at 1:15)

I averaged 5-hour workout weeks in March, about 40% of what I’ll do on Ironman day alone. I don’t feel too far behind. My body has gotten used to quick ramp-ups (and free *Falls*). Besides, these next two years are workload experiments. By 2015, when I want a max effort at 45-years-old, I’ll know what mix of workouts is most efficient.

As any time-crunched 40-something athlete knows, time and injuries dominate performance. We can’t yet retire, and devote weekday daylight to workouts, but the wheels are coming loose. Let’s leave injuries for another post and take a look at my current time allocation.

50 hours sleeping

50 hours for Goldman, Sachs

40 hours family time

5 hours/week coaching the boys’ football and soccer teams

5 hours workouts

2 hours writing

16 hours commuting

Last year, I was writing much more (both at night and on the train) trying to finish a book, and sleeping a bit less. This year I’ve had more Goldman work on the train. And anyway I needed a break from hardcore writing. Looking at the time allocation, it’s pretty obvious where the extra workout time in April, May, June and July will come from: Sleep and commuting. This month I started occasionally bike commuting from Greenwich, CT to Goldman HQ in lower Manhattan. It’s 42 miles, but more importantly, these commutes don’t interfere with family life in the mornings and minimize the impact on the way home.

Train+ subway commute: 1.5 hours

Bike commute: 2.25 hours in, 2.5 hours home through Bronx rush hour.

Run Commute (9.6 miles to 125th street): 1:15 run to 125th Street adds only :30 to commute.

Bottomline: If I move to 2 roundtrip bikes to work-per-week (from one) and add one run, I can add another ~6 hours of work at the cost of 2 hours of sleep and 4 hours of commuting. That will put at 10-11 hours of training per week. That’s still below the minimum of 12 hours recommended by time-crunched triathletes, but 10 hours will have to suffice this year.

No more basketball until 2016

March Workouts

Mar 1: 60 minutes Startrac cycle, 220 watts HR 155 (sprained ankle recovery)

Mar 3: 45 minutes hilly computrainer in aero/230 watts/ 180 HR

Mar 4: 35 mile Greenwich ride with Dave Lehman/slightly hilly/HR 160/2 hours

Mar 5: 45 minutes steady state Lifecycle bike 220 watts/155 HR

Mar 6: 4×5 minutes 235 watts Lifecycle/178 HR

Mar 10: 1:05 hilly computrainer/230 watts/HR 175 (:10), 180 (:18), 187 (:50) Mar Mar 11: 38 mi ride Greenwich with Jake Gearhart/HR 155/2:20

Mar 14: 9.6 mi run to 125^th Street/ 1:13/ HR 160-170

Mar 17: 1:15 hilly aero computrainer/ 225 watts/HR 175-188

Mar 18: 90 mins steady state aero computrainer (160/170/175) 199 watts

Mar 20: 42 mile ride to work/2:23

Mar 22: 5X 5 mins 315 watts

Mar 23: 20 min run through French Quarter

Mar 24: 50 min run around Tulane

Mar 29: 42 mile ride home from work/2:35

Mar 31: 90 mins aero computrainer, 197 watts, HR 160+ :30, HR 170+ at :45…still seeing drift but not as bad.

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A nice February workout for 6-year-old Ryan...50# Wahoo

February Summary

Starting weight: 215

Ending weight: 214 (Key West vacation did not help here)

Total workouts: 12 (Key West vacation did help here)

Weekly Average: 4 hours

Longest run: 12.4 miles (Southport 20k; hilly)/7:22 pace

Estimated Ironman finishing time: 11.6 hours (1:20/:05/6:15/:05/3:50)

The injury came early this year with a grade one right calf strain during a 12-mile race on February 12. That I had only twice run more than 5.5 miles in January. The ramp was too steep. Calf strains and metatarsal stress fractures have recurred for five years now. It’s a combination of skinny calves, a top-heavy body, a pounding stride, a sharp mileage ramp-up, a torn brevis tendon in my right ankle, and awful flexibility. I can run a marathon on a stress fracture but not a torn calf. I need to get serious about stretching. Maybe the boys can stomp the tightness out of my legs when we wrestle.

On second thought, in 2008 my 3-year-old gave me a nasty case of turf toe by jumping off my back onto my calf while I was playing horse, so I’ll avoid the ruffians except to build calluses.

Adding insult to the injury, on February 27th I was a last-minute substitute on a local basketball team and, wearing light hikers, rolled my bad ankle within five minutes. I’ll stick with the doctor’s orders–with just a single lateral tendon intact, no basketball or sand volleyball. Ever.

Workouts

February 4: 30 mile flat computrainer 1:32/170 watts/HR 170-180

February 12: 12.43 mile race/1:31/7:22 pace/HR 183

February 15: 1 hour seated life fitness cycling 193 watts HR 173

February 16: 1:07 seated life fitness upright bike 193 watts HR 170; 30 minutes elliptical 177 watts

February 17: 30 minutes recline bike 200 watts; 15 minute jog

February 18: 8 mile run with Suz/8:30/mile

February 19: 2 mile run easy to retrieve rental car

February 20: 45 minutes seated bike 230 watts/HR 170

February 23: 2×20 minutes StarTrac bike 260 watts/HR 175-185 (#1) and 188 (#2)

February 24: 9 mile run from office to Harlem/HR 155/8:15 per mile

February 25: 33 mile ride/2 hours/ HR 155

February 26: 7500 meter erg/28:45/HR165-190

February 27: Basketball game/45 minutes

Back when training was fun, the 1996 Eco Challenge (Suz Bottom, second from the left)

Starting weight (first three morning average): 217

Ending weight: 215

10 total workouts (two Monday holidays)/ 4 hours per week

Hardest workout: Riding computrainer through two episodes of Mad Men for 1:30, a great series but not exactly adrenaline-filled.

Estimated Ironman finishing time: 11 ¾  hours (1:25/6:30/3:50)

ON January 1^st, 2012, I weighed 217 pounds. Finishing up my book, The Snake Eaters, took a toll on my Fall workouts. I’m a demand-sider: I control my weight with exercise, not food intake. I need to be 200 by mid-June, giving me 2 months to train at race weight before racing Ironman New York in the August 11^th heat.

To drop weight and get fit, the biggest challenge as a father of two young boys – and a debtor to a wife who was already allowed me several big adventures – is time allocation.

In January I was able to carve out 4 hours per week of workouts. The book debuts in May so for the next few months writing may outweigh Ironman prep as a hobby. Here’s the January split:

8 hours of writing, 4 hours of working out

-50 hours working

-50 hours sleeping

-40 hours family

-16 hours commuting

-8 hours writing

-4 hours working out

I won’t be able to easily replace writing with working out in the Spring. I write on the train and at night. The little writing I do on weekends will be replaced by coaching duties. To boost my fitness, I’ll need to attack commuting and sleep. The year goes like this:

January thru mid-February—2.5 workouts/week (weekends), usually one indoor ride and one outdoor run. I don’t use treadmills.

February break thru March—4 workouts/week, including a weekly cycling interval workout, with occasional 7500m ergs mixed in to remind me what hard training once felt like. I’ll also hunt out any races to get some max efforts in.

April-May—4.5 workouts/week including bike commutes into the city (42 miles), some long workouts, and a few short triathlons.

June-July—5 workouts/week mixing regular bike commutes, weekend triathlons with no tapers, and the occasional all-nighter (for the last two years I have ridden from 5pm to 5 am, including several Bear Mountain repeats, to get my mind right)

August—Ironman

September-December–Perhaps I’ll take one final crack at the 3-hour marathon barrier in DC or NYC in the next few years. But the fall is generally reserved for soccer coaching, plentiful food, and Redskins games.

On 1/1/2012 I ran a flat 5.5-mile loop around Tod’s Point in Old Greenwich, a typical Fall maintenance run, to establish a baseline. I finished in a sprint in 39 minutes (~7:05/mile). The fall layoff had taken its toll. Bigger every year.

ON January 2^nd, again at 217 pounds, I rode a flat 30-mile course in the aero position on the computrainer in my basement to the first three episodes of Mad Men. I averaged 177 watts in 1:30:55. I wasn’t able to stay in the aero tuck for more than 20 minutes, and by the end it was 5 minutes on the aero bars, five minutes on the horns. I’m ~30 watts stronger on the horns. I suffered from obvious heart rate drift: HR165 (minute mark :20)/HR172 (:25)/HR178 (:38)/HR179-181 (:45)/HR183 (:50)/HR188 (1:15)/HR190 (1:25).

I’ve got weak legs, but 177 watts was an especially weak output considering my heart rate. In 2010 and 2011, I rode two Tour de France stages over Tourmalet (2010) and Alpe D’Huez (2011) to get a tiny taste of what the Tour de France riders face daily (having heard the Tour compared to other endurance events, I was curious). I was able to get my sustained (4+ hours) sit-up output well over 200 watts.

Unfortunately in both those Tour stage  I suffered from severe cramping (I walked 750 meters up Tourmalet in ’10 and soft-pedaled the top third of Alpe d’Huez in ‘11). The latter race had zero to do with sodium, electrolytes etc. I was pounding pills. Either I stayed too long in the red or my Lipitor prescription (ten years now) finally caught up with me and caused the muscle fatigue I’d dismissed for a decade.

I’m going Lipitor-free this spring and summer as a test run.

Workouts

Jan 1: 5.5 mi run, 7:05/mile

Jan 2: 30 mile flat computrainer indoor aero ride, 177 watts, 1:30:55, HR 180

Jan 7: 33 mile ride/HR 160/2:27

Jan 14: 1.5 mi run/1 hour upright bike@200 watts/1.5 mi run

Jan 15: 30 mi flat computrainer indoor aero ride, 178 watts, 1:30:47, HR 180

Jan 16: 7.6 mi run/one 9% 500-meter hill/173 HR/7:36 pace

Jan 18: 45 minutes computrainer/200 watts

Jan 22: 6.5 mile run one 9% hill/ HR 165/ 8:18 pace

Jan 28: 25 mi computrainer indoor aero, 180 watts, 1:15, HR 180

Jan 29: 9.2 mile run one small hill/HR 172/7:47 pace

If only the boys could tow me through Ironman...

After a decade-long hiatus from serious endurance sport, I missed the benefits of hard work concomitant with big goals. In 2010 and 2011 I entered two mountainous Tour de France stages to see what biking was all about. To build cycling forbearance, I emphasized long distance, low intensity workouts. Bikers call it “saddle time.” The training did not work for me. Working a full-time job while maximizing the time spent with my wife and two boys (8,6) — including coaching two sports each in the Fall and Spring — didn’t leave time for 5+ hour weekend “base” workouts. So this year I decided to go old school as an experiment. I’m reverting to the ethos I learned as a rower in the 1980s at St Paul’s and Harvard, and as a 1990s Marine: Every workout is a race; always finish strong. In short, most workouts will be intense. Now I needed a big goal….

Qualifying for the Ironman World Championship in 2014, when I turn 45.

Ironman qualification standards get tougher every year. To qualify, I’ll have to race under 10 hours. My best time ever, run when I was 25-years-old, was 10:26. So I not only have to drop 20 pounds (the easy part, at 217 lbs) but must also cut 26 grueling minutes–and roll back 20 years and a sedentary job. In the Marines, working out was part of the job description. Now I sit staring at computer screens.

I’ll have my first real test to see what’s left in the tank on August 11, 2012, when I run the Ironman U.S. Championship in New York City. Next year is Susanne’s race year. Then in 2014 I plan to ramp up to 10 hours of training per week. This year it will be tough to get over 6-7.

As a trader, probabilities are a big part of my life. Odds are I will not qualify for Kona in 2014. But that’s secondary.

Committing to a goal is more important than achieving it. It took me 25 years to realize this, but I was always late bloomer. Through my sophomore spring in high school I was a mediocre athlete who could not conceptualize the benefits of hard physical work. Then I had some success in rowing. The sport emphasized determination over skill, and teamwork above all. There were no individual all-Americans. By adhering to the philosophy of relentlessness imbued by coaches Chip Morgan & Rich Davis at St. Paul’s, and Harry Parker at Harvard, my teammates and I won dozens of races. I developed a love for competition.

Oddly, in addition to newfound discipline and camaraderie, I took from rowing the feeling of regret. In 1990, I was part of the fastest collegiate crew in the country, winning the Eastern Sprints and the Henley Regatta, but we finished 2nd in the National Championship. That six-minute block of life haunts every one of us. By 1991 I was a good rower by Harvard standards but unexceptional. Great Harvard rowers went on to row for the national team, and exceptional rowers represented the U.S. at the Olympics. I consider Olympians the highest athletic achievers. What bothers me isn’t the fact I never represented the nation in rowing. My erg scores were at the bottom edge of selection camps. At 6’4”, 196 lbs, I was small for the next level.

What bothers me is that I never gave it a proper shot.

My teammate Norm Bellingham, a kayaking gold medal winner before coming to Harvard, marveled at the fanatical work ethic in the Harvard boathouse but once observed, “You guys are driven more by fear of losing than glory. At this level you must aim higher, or someone who doesn’t know any better will defeat you.” His conclusion puzzled me. It was true that losing was devastating in a sport where you worked all year for a single six-minute race, but I didn’t understand how to harness all that work in a different psychological engine. In a crew race, your body goes anaerobic after about a minute. Over the next five grueling minutes, I didn’t see much room in your oxygen-starved brain for strategizing. Fear seemed to be a pretty effective base emotion.

Four years later I understood what Norm meant. In 1994 was invited to try out for an ultra-endurance racing team captained by Robyn Benincasa, who would eventually become the top female adventure racer in the world. Her team was to race in the 400-mile Eco Challenge, a grueling multisport expedition race over rugged terrain and rivers where the clock never stopped and you slept only when you dared. Her tryout attracted professional triathletes, bikers, and mountain men. They were in another league. But I eagerly signed up for the 36-hour tryout. Rowing had given me a capacity for pain, and the Marine Corps had further taught me how to suffer. I wanted to make a run at my limits–and my competitors. I was well back after the kayak leg, and after the mountain bike leg I felt like I was in another time zone. But overnight on foot wearing a pack I slowly reeled in the triathletes, who had treated their machine bodies well over the years, with nutrition plans, massages and prescribed rest. Not tonight.

River crossing, British Columbia 1996

By aiming high and then grinding away, I landed on teams that finished the Eco Challenge 2nd and 8th (in a brutal 10-day race in which only 14 of 75 teams finished), and eventually raced with teammates that ranged from Marines, SEALs and Rangers to Playboy Playmates. From there Ironman and ultra marathons followed. I ran an ultra never having run farther than 10 miles in training that year. In 2001, I decided to take a crack at Mount Everest from the North Side because I was told it was a tougher route. I’d never been above 14,000′ and did not summit Everest, turning back at about 28,000′, which was very disappointing.

But in the ten years since graduating Harvard, I’d developed a much different attitude about the crux of achievement. I now believed the benefits of big goals outweighed the inevitable shortfalls. Looking back, it was a gradual realization that took place after thousands of tough hours starting in a high school crew shell. I only wish it had come sooner. In essence, I had come to believe that big goals paid dividends that weren’t visible at the outset of the journey. Achievement had become secondary to discovery. To explore through hard work, you had to lean hard into your limits. To find your limits you needed something out of reach. I’m taking a crack at Ironman qualification not because I think I can get a coveted Kona slot.

I want to see what’s out there…