I took a nap during a Half Ironman: Musselman Recap

The Musselman triathlon was one of the two Half-Ironman distance tris I signed up for last year during a manic moment of "If Meghan and Geoffrey are going to do it, I'm doing it too!" The other was Patriot. And because we're not crazy enough already, we signed up for the DoubleMussel. That's the MiniMussel sprint tri Saturday, and the Half Sunday.

Here's my advice: Don't do two triathlons two days in a row (but I'm glad I did.... once).

The title of this post suggests a wild and rollicking adventure... and it was! But I have to rewind, because this adventure turned out to be way bigger and more amazing than I had expected. And there's about a million photos to share, so prepare to scroll a lot.

Here's a nice photo!

It all started when I learned that one of my favorite people in the world, Jenn, was coming to NY to hang out and cheer us on at Musselman. Which led to many more of my favorite people saying, "I'm coming too!" All of the extra days I took off work to rest and recover suddenly turned into days stuffed with adventure. Jenn is an immensely sweet and adorable person who makes, just, everyone fall desperately in love with her. And when I discovered that she burps, farts, and swears like a beleaguered sailor, it somehow just made her more lovable. And as if that isn't enough, there was: Lois, Curt, Aria, Dawn, John, Chris, Shawn #VHLWarrior, Steve, Sue, Carrie, Geoffrey, Meghan and her daughter, and many many more.

Not even all of the amazing people!

I'm still floating on a high of love and frenetic activity. I gotta pound out all this goodness but I will, as usual, miss three quarters of the good stuff.

Jenn was supposed to arrive on Wednesday in Buffalo and ride down with Dawn to Corning. Instead, she had an absolutely terrible experience at the airport, which led to her spending the night in a motel in Omaha. I don't know anything about Omaha, but if it's like the rest of Nebraska, it just has cows and more cows. And it took her 7.5 hours of zero flying before she could get to that motel. And instead of eating a giant pile of soul-soothing food, she had to scrounge for snacks like a raccoon. And to think she was so excited when her handsome husband, Michael dropped her off at the airport.

Dawn's awesome parking job.
Yes, I took a pic.

She had to sit in a plane on a Tarmac, listening to the captain come on every hour or so to say, "I've got a little more unfortunate news." The passengers finally had to get off the plane when it ran out of fuel. Idling. On the tarmac. And all of the food she desperately looked at afterwards had the same label: "Contains dairy." Dairy makes her blow up like an angry balloon. It sucks for her but it was exciting for me. I spent most of the week trying to get her to eat ice cream or cheese so I could see a real life Epi-pen in action! And when that failed I tried rubbing cheese doodles on her.

Curt burning off ice cream and cheese.

I drove to Lois' on Wednesday. With Aria. And her entire life. See, Aria was moving to Lois' that day. So we arrived there with about 100 pounds of running stuff and a couple toiletries (I imagined... those bins were heavy!). Dawn was stuck in Buffalo waiting for Jenn, but she didn't mind. Her mom was thrilled to have her! My mom is always thrilled to see me. She lives only .8 miles from me, but I'm a terrible son. Lois, Curt, Aria and I grilled dinner and chilled Wednesday evening. That's actually noteworthy, becois Lois is terrible at "chilling" and had to be forced to sit in the same place for more than 5 minutes. She and I are polar opposites on the Type A - Type B spectrum. I'm excellent at chilling.

Four of us. Chilling. My belly is huge from eating.

Thursday morning Curt, Lois and I went swimming at Cowanesque Lake (I can't believe I can spell that without Googling it). They swam within the designated buoy area. I said, "how far do you think the opposite shore is?" They thought I was making idle conversation. And then I swam to the opposite shore and back. It was only half a mile round trip. Later we ran (with John and Sue too) and totally ditched Lois. Speaking of Lois, she had no kitchen and her washing machine was in the dining room. That's all I'm saying about that.

Lois really wanted me to share this pic of
LUNARs meeting for the first time in person.

John arrived later at his AirBNB. It was half a block from Lois'. As far as I know he..... slept there? Oh, he made us a pot of coffee there once and brought it over. I'm sure it was very nice, but I never stepped foot in it.... and he barely did either (the house, not the coffee). At some point around that time we started the running gag about John and his "ten foot pole". There is an entire story behind it that he insisted I share... ya know, for context. But NO. You will just have to wonder. I made sure to bring up his ten foot pole every. chance. I. got.

John, looking very fashionable.

No context. Just, "whoa, don't turn so fast, you almost knocked me over."

"Don't sit so close to the fire, you'll singe your tip."

"I'm surprised you drove. You could've just pole-vaulted here."

"Every time John looks at Dawn's legs, he destroys his pants."

And so on.

Jenn finally got to Buffalo Thursday afternoon. She sucks at dealing with that cr@p. She's a total chicken (her words). Actually, she described herself as a "chicken wallflower." That's the note I have; I didn't actually write down her explanation. Anyway, she had to rebook four times, the whole time dealing with douchy travelers who expected her to solve sh!t for all of them. "Did you fix our plane yet, or are you just worrying about yourself?" Yeah. I would've punched that guy.

A chicken wallflower?

She and Dawn got in around 7. Then we grilled shish kabobs. Then we stayed up really late talking. Aria usually goes to bed in the wee hours of the morning... and we outlasted her. At around 1am Jenn finally said, "well, it's almost midnight, I should go to bed."

Some serious shishkabobs
Photo Cr. Lois

"Um, no. It's 1." Her brand new phone that she doesn't know how to use apparently doesn't update for time zones automatically. Oops! And we had planned to to do a big group run at 7:30am Friday morning. I got.... maybe 6 hours of sleep?

This is how Aria takes selfies.
She is now #Vinaigrette

I was supposed to be tapering. TAPERING. Instead I swam Thursday morning and ran a 10k Thursday evening that turned into a tempo run because Curt is blazingly fast. And here we were doing a 5 mile run at the crack of "I'm still asleep." Oh, and getting enough sleep before the DoubleMussel? Hahaha.

Who has time to sleep when you have
all these amazing people around you!!

Shawn came Friday morning to run with us. He's the stalwart leader of L.U.N.A.R. (Lace Up Now and Run) and a VHL warrior. Despite having his third brain surgery recently, he continues to be a powerful representation of strength and perseverance. It's been a long road to recovery, and he's been attacking it with unparalleled dedication. And he came Friday to run with us! Unbelievable man. John, Dawn, Jenn, Chris (#DD!), and Aria ran as well. Awesome! There was a lot of sweating.

Shawn even let me do this, because
he's the best man in the universe.

Sadly I had to leave after that to go home and get my junk for Musselman and then head to Geneva. The LUNAR folks kept on doing awesome things but I wasn't there for that. The group of us competing at Musselman (Geoffrey, Meghan, her daughter, Steve, Sue, Carrie, Lois, Curt, and I) stayed at a fantastic place called the Gridley Inn. It was owned by a wonderful couple, Madison and Stephanie, who bent over backwards to make our stay amazing. They event got up at 4am Sunday to make us breakfast. Lovely people.

Stay here. You won't regret it.

I got to the Gridley first and checked in. Madison was very talkative. I nodded aggressively, the whole time my bladder bursting at the seams. After that I headed to the expo and met up with Geoffrey and Meghan to get our bibs and a huge pile of swag. That was the first sign of how awesome Musselman is. I got a free foam roller! I don't even know what it's for! Yes, I'm a terrible runner. We went to the Lake Front Park to do an open water swim, but it was cancelled because the ramp washed away in the rain. The same rain that ruined Jenn's flight three days prior. It was a LOT of rain. We ate dinner and crashed hard.

Heiko at the Gridley Inn.

We got to "sleep in" till 6am Saturday because the MiniMussel started at a luxurious 9am. Madison and Stephanie had an awesome breakfast and tons of coffee all ready to go for us. We go to the park by quarter after seven and had plenty of time to set up our transition areas and all the other pre-race things. Everything was extremely well organized. These folks really knew what they were doing, and clearly took a lot of pride in it.

The race was a blast. A half mile swim in the canal, which was crazy fun, a 16 mile bike ride, and a 5k. Meghan, Geoffrey and I had all decided to not push it, because we wanted to save some strength for the next day. Instead, we all pushed it to the max. Hashtag worth it? But we were excited and we were fast and we felt good. Screw you intelligent thinking! And Meghan's daughter podiumed! She got second in her division! She's thirteen! That was really freakin' amazing.

Canal! With boats and everything!

After the race we went to the expo to get our chips for the Half. Then we went to the "mandatory meeting". Among other things I learned that it's called Musselman because of the invasive species of Zebra Mussels that are, basically, destroying the lake. Cool beans. The race director was an awesome dude. And I really should have listened more closely when he told us about the awful hill on the run. Race directors will usually say, "rolling hills," when they mean mountains. But when a race director tells you that it's OK to walk a hill.... That probably means you'll be climbing a sheer cliff. More on that later.

No sheer cliffs for us, thank-you.

The rest of our group showed up that evening. They weren't crazy enough to do the DoubleMussel. Lois, Sue, and Carrie were doing the relay. Steve and Curt were doing the whole thing with us. It was Curt's first Half Ironman ever. It was Steve's first of the year. Tensions were high, but Madison and Stephanie did a magnificent job of relaxing us as much as possible. And the dinner they made for us.... WOW.

At the Gridley. Photo courtesy of Madison.

We were up at 4am the next day. We ate breakfast. We got all our heaps packed up and were at the park by 5:30. By this point I had already gone through so much epic adventure that my mind didn't even register that I was about to do a 70.3. It was just one more thing in a long string of non-stop action. The morning went by in a blur and I was in the water by 7am. Musselman did an amazing job getting such a huge number of people organized and moving through the two-stage corrals. I didn't even have a spare minute to stop and think about what was going on before the horn sounded. I was in the first wave, so it was just in the water and 30 seconds later GO.

Our swim in the Cowanesque was a breeze by comparison.

Suddenly I was swimming. I felt solid on the swim. Then I got halfway and turned directly into the sun. I could see literally nothing. All I could do was follow the swimmers in front of me and hope I didn't get lost. Swimming over half a mile completely blind is a unique experience. Apparently on her swim, Lois befriended a kayaker named Jeremy, but she made it with aplomb. None of us got lost on the swim. I even got a PR! Then I was out of the water running towards transition.

Musselman printed us each a label for our spots in transition,
and it included the motivational quote we had put in our registration!

I tore off my swimsuit, devoured a potato and rice bar that Geoffrey and Meghan had made, hopped on the bike and did that thing. So if you read my race report from Patriot, you may recall that I described it as.... long. After that race I honestly thought halves were too boring for me. But the bike segment of Musselman was FUN. There were two beautiful lakes. There were a ton of other riders, some of whom I played bike hockey with. I was super excited, and I pushed way too hard. Out of the 11 five-mile segments, I had 4 that were around 20mph. Weeeee!

My bike is starting to look like a tri bike.

In the last 15-20 miles, I ended up playing bicycle hockey with this one particular lady in purple. We had a fun banter going every time we passed each other. We teased each other, we egged each other on, and we helped motivate one another to.... bike too hard. There was a gravel road near the end that everyone else hated but I loved. It was like biking off road! The gal in purple almost caught up with me in the last half mile. She said, "are you really going to let me pass you now?!" I said no way and floored it.

I pushed hard on the bike because I take the run portion for granted. I'm a runner after all. I killed the run at Patriot and figured I'd have no problem at Musselman. I was wrong.

Me casually typing out how wrong I was.
Photo Cr. Lois

I jumped off the bike and started running at a good pace. The first three miles were flat. Nice and easy along the lake. Around mile 3 you hit the first hill. Sorry, did I say hill? I meant STAIRS. I am not joking, you had to run up stairs. I stupidly assumed that this was the big hill the race coordinator had alluded to. So I said "no problem!" and flew up the steps. Then there was many more miles of hills. Hills hills hills. All going up. I tried to keep a decent pace but I started to think, "oh oh".

I was def missing my fun easy
runs from earlier in the week.

It was HOT. At every water stop I took two waters, one for my head and one for my mouth. And a gatorade. And a wet sponge. And a cup of ice. And all of that did jack sh!t to keep me hydrated and cool. I vaguely recalled from the meeting that the course went up and then down. As I neared the halfway point, I kept thinking, "ok, this is the last hill. Ok no this one. Ok this one has to be it."

Wrong every time. And then there it was: THE hill. Huge. Long. Awash in blazing sunlight. And it was loose gravel. This massive giant disgusting hill was just sand and pebbles. I thought, "f@#k my ego." And I walked. And I thought I was done with hills. And I was still wrong.

We're OK! Really!

There were hills up until about mile 8. There were a couple of big downhills, but I was too trashed by then to take advantage of them. I got slower and slower. At mile 10 I suddenly felt AWFUL. I was lightheaded, nauseated, blurry-eyed. I was stumbling around like a drunk on Mardi Gras. I was going to die. This is exactly the point when Carrie passed me going the other way (she was the last of the relay: Lois swimming, Sue biking, and Carrie running). She asked, "are you OK?" I must have looked really bad. When she crossed the finish later, the first thing she asked was, "did Peter make it?!"

We all crossed it.... eventually.

Barely. Right after she passed me, I realized I had to stop. I could barely stand. I also really needed to pee. So I walked behind a bush, pulled down my tri kit, and let loose. I was hoping it would be a sufficient break. It was not. I walked a little and found a park bench.

I sat down. I still felt delirious.

I lay down. I still felt delirious.

I closed my eyes. Finally I felt a little better.

And I took a nap.

Just two and a half miles shy of the finish of a Half Ironman, I lay down on a park bench and took a nap.

People ran by and asked if I was OK. I mindlessly gave a thumbs up, which pacified them all. "He gave a thumbs up! He's GREAT!"

He's great! He just needs coffee and nicotine!

There was a volunteer right there who kept checking on me. She was very nice. She offered me water. I didn't want to put her out. She said, "the aide station is right there." It was like 10 feet away. I hadn't even seen it. She got me water. I went back to napping. Finally after about 20 minutes (more? I finally stopped my watch) she came up and woke me up.

"Um, if you stay there, I'm going to have to call someone."

"Guess that means I have to finish the race, huh? Alright." I got up and kept going. I felt a LOT better. I managed a slow jog. Then two miles shy of the finish, Meghan caught up to me. She was also having a brutal day. She said, "come on. You GOT this." I don't know how, but I ran the last two miles at a 10 minute pace, the whole time Meghan next to me. She saved my a$$. We crossed the finish line together. I could not have thought of a better way - or with a better person - to finish the race with. I f@#king love Meghan.

Epic finishers.

And everyone was there. Jenn, Dawn, Chris, John, and Aria had all driven up to watch us. I was on the verge of death, but they reinvigorated me. I ate about 10 pounds of watermelon and a bagel. I hung out with them. We waited for Curt and Steve to finish. They killed their races. All of us did, even me, excluding the, um, napping portion. It was a really fantastic triathlon. Even the near-death experienced just added some "fun" spice to the adventure.

I nearly died and all I got was this t-shirt...
And this metal mussel. And this recycled gear.
OK worth it.

We hugged, took photos, and scattered. I went back to Corning with Aria because heck no was I done partying. I stopped by Wegmans to get Halo Top, and pizza was waiting for me by the time I got to Lois'. I vacuumed up food like it was my last day on earth. Jenn couldn't eat pizza because it would make her use her $650 Epi pen (but dang I was hoping!). Instead she made an epic sandwich out of left over shish kabobs and Marathon bread. She purred with delight as she ate it.

No joke.

Jeff Holbrook, who is the mayor of just everything, showed up. We made a fire in Lois' back yard and chilled for a long time. We talked a lot. I made a huge number of jokes about John's ten foot pole. I was high on endorphins and greasy food and I gave zero $hits about what I said. When we needed more firewood, I smashed massive tree boughs against a large rock. I was insane. It was amazing. We talked late into the night.

Smashin wood.
Photo Cr. Lois

This morning we ran. I ran two miles with Jenn. Then I ran 6 more miles with her, Curt, and Lois. My body was brutally sore but other than that I felt good. Screw rest. Then we had many tearful goodbyes and hugs. Now I'm here. My cat is avoiding me because she's mad at me. And I'm writing this blog. And I'm just.... overflowing with the amount of joy, love, and adventure I experienced in such a densely packed period of time. I can't overstate how incredible it was. For about 5 days I escaped life and just experienced the extremes of all the best things in life, non-stop.

Moments before a tearful goodbye.

Musselman blew me away with how well it was put on. It was exceptionally fun. The volunteers were amazing. Stephanie and Madison of the Gridley Inn were amazing. And the many many many transcendentally lovely friends I got to spend all of that time with.... I didn't think it was possible for me to love them more. But I do.

Just can't even handle how incredible
my friends are. Photo Cr. Lois

Lois said I should write my lessons from the races. Um, taper. Actually taper. Eat lots (I did that). Sleep lots (I didn't do that). Don't do the DoubleMussel (well, maybe once). Don't blow yourself up on the bike. Take nothing for granted. Two salt tablets is not enough. Drink more water than you think you need on the bike. Pay attention to volunteers who tell you slow down because otherwise you will go for another swim in Cayuga Lake. When a race director warns you about a hill.... F@#king open your ears. And most of all have fun. We train hard. We train like lunatics. We're perpetually sore and exhausted. And the night before a race we're stressed as h3ll. But.... remember why you do this.

I don't think we'll forget why we do this any time soon.

And this week reminded me of that. I survived. I ran two tris in a row and I crossed the finish lines both times and I got two medals. And I felt strong (95% of the time). And more importantly, I was surrounded by astonishingly generous, loving, uncouth, inspirational, self-aware, and powerfully driven people, all of whom I met thanks to my training. For those five days, I was ablaze with love and life.

Thank-you for reading.

Seriously. No joke.

You Will Have Awful Workouts

You will have awful workouts. Maybe it's because you haven't recovered from your last workout. Maybe you didn't eat enough and have no energy. Maybe you didn't get any sleep. Maybe you have a pulled quad, or it's hot as h3ll, or you're just in a bad mood. Maybe you have no idea why the workout's sucking but it is (that's the worst).

It happens.

And sometimes you have a good workout, or even a great one, and then feel awful afterwards. Like you did this really epic thing: You went faster than usual, or farther than usual, or just did something that you totally didn't think your body was capable of. And then your "reward" is a day - or days - of pain, exhaustion, and all the emotional wreckage that comes with that.

That happens too.

And sometimes you get stuck in a cycle for days, or weeks, or even months, were you just oscillate between the two. An awesome workout that breaks you, followed by a bunch of weak workouts that make you doubt yourself. Then you recover and have another good workout and think, "aha, this is it!" And then it repeats.

Guess what, that is a thing that happens too.

If you're reading this, and you're a person who's just getting started on the long crazy road of training - whether it's for a marathon, or a triathlon, or a tennis tournament, or a powerlifting meet, or just anything - you might be thinking, "ugh. No." It kind of sounds like I'm trying to dissuade you, doesn't it? I'm kind of making it sound like a disaster.

But I've chosen it. And all of that cr@p has happened to me, a lot. And then afterwards I've chosen it again. Except more so. Harder. With more pain. And I know lots of people who've also made that choice, and experienced the pain and struggle and self-doubt. And then afterwards have done it all over again. Harder. With more pain.

It sounds insane right? It sounds like we're all masochists. Like we hate ourselves. Like we're punishing ourselves.

I'm going tell you something that's going to sound unbelievable. We were punishing ourselves.... before we started on this crazy road. When we weren't breaking ourselves and remaking ourselves and breaking ourselves again... that haze of life when we were just floating, living up to the expectations of others, just following a path that we were told to follow without knowing where it would lead.... that's when we were punishing ourselves.

I may doubt my ability to swim a certain speed, or bike a certain distance, or lift a certain weight, or run on dead legs. But I don't doubt myself for choosing to try. That I chose to train so that the next time I try, I have a better chance to succeed. Because that choice is freedom. That choice is power.

There are two signs leading to two roads.

The first sign says, "this is the safe road. There's nothing really exceptional about it. It's comfortable. You don't have to think. It's the same road almost everyone else walks. Parts of it sucks, but it's the same suck everyone else goes through. You can have a beer and eat a cake and whine to each other. And then you reach the end and.... that's it."

The second sign says, "this road is hard. Really hard. You'll have to fight ever step of the way. Very few take this road. It will leave you bloody and beaten and broken. But at the end of the road is you. The real you. The you that's had all fear and hesitancy and sense of purposelessness scrubbed away by all those painful obstacles. At the end you will be a jewel smoothed away of all imperfection."

Oh, I forgot the fine print on the first sign: "When you reach the end of this road, you will wish you had taken the second road."

And that's why I suffer. Over and over. I don't want my life to be just bills, and traffic, and shallow friends (who think you're just as shallow), and insurance claims, and doctors who tell me to just take these pills, and a vague sense that I'm not striving for anything, and a vague promise that I'll do it.... "some day".

I want to be able to say, "I chose this." I chose to fight these battles, because the cause is worthy. I chose to break myself, because when I heal, I will be stronger. And not just in body, though hopefully that too. But in spirit. A spirit that's been washed clean of the emotional poison that we inflict upon ourselves and upon each other.

A spirit that says, "I took the second road, and now I am whole."

Running with Aria

Yesterday I was running with Aria, baking in the sun, my body complaining at me. It was her longest run ever, and rather than succumbing to my body's screaming desire for rest, I joined her on her epic adventure. I told her I had to write a post on my blog but that I wasn't sure what to write about.

"You should write how your bicycled for 6 hours on the stationary bike Saturday, and then ran 16 miles with me today," she suggested.

"Well it's not really about showing off. I can't just write that and nothing else. I need some context," I replied, meaning that I needed an "excuse" to boast. I mean, it is my blog, but still.

"Well then write about never giving up. Being strong and always pushing forward."

"I'm pretty sure I say that in every post."

Aria's training for Wineglass marathon. It'll be her first marathon! It'll be my third time doing it. Unlike me though, Aria's got an actual coach: Her father Geoffrey! And he's awesome. And this year it's going to be a massive LUNAR (Lace up Now and Run) reunion, which is explosively exciting.

"How many marathons have you done?" She asked.

"9? I think?" I answered, counting on my fingers," including my solo marathon on New Years." Aria looked suitably impressed.

"What was that like?"

"Long. But it was nice. Just me and the snow, and moonlight reflecting off the eyes of wild animals."

"Aaugh, I don't think I could deal with that," she replied, referring to the nightlife. I shrugged. I told her I did it with no food and water. She said I was an idiot.

"What? It's not like I sweat much. But yes, I am very dumb. For example I'm running 16 miles with you right now even though I'm totally broken."

Dangerous wildlife.

I explained to her the psychology of running. That, yes, you train the body. But even more so, you train the mind. That every time you run, you teach your brain that you can handle a little more. Most of our limitations are imposed by our brains. And every time you do a longer or harder run, your mind says, "hmm, ok, I can handle that." And you push a little more the next time.

Eventually our conversation fell away and was replaced by miles of huffing and puffing. It was hot. I had told Aria that, doing my training for the Ironman, these long runs no longer seemed that big a deal. I ran 20 miles the previous weekend, and told her it felt... short. She didn't believe me. Maybe that was just a fluke though, because I was definitely feeling every single mile of these 16.

There was a time when I was in her shoes, where I was pushing my mileage, training for my first marathon (Wineglass #1 incidentally). Well, not counting Lake Placid, which I prefer to sweep under the rug. There was a time when even 1 mile was hard for me. This led me into a story about my dogs, who got me into running.

Aria's got a much better start than I did. She's serious and dedicated. She's following an actual training plan. I told her how amazing it is that she's doing that at 23. It took me until my 30's before I buckled down and became a grown up. She's got a drive and purpose that I was sorely lacking at her age. 23 is when I started drinking and partying, and it went downhill from there.

This is what I was doing in my 20's.
Boy, that's embarrassing. Just, really embarrassing.

A lot of the folks on LUNAR are older. They're parents. They have careers. They're put-together. And that's awesome. Because for them to balance a crazy training schedule with their busy lives is nigh-unbelievable. For a lot of people, I think they took the responsibility they learned from working, raising kids, and maintaining a household, and applied it to running.

But for Aria, this is something she just decided to do. At the risk of sound like a jerk, she's in the position of a lot of 20-somethings. She's not sure what her place in life is yet, what she wants to do, where she's going to end up. She's a great person with lots of options, but having too many options can be paralyzing. A lot of youngsters are raised with delusions about being "whatever they want" and end up being nothing for a long time.

Running though is a fantastic focus. It trains your mind, your body, and your spirit. It strengthens you in a way that few other things do. It teaches you to pick a single goal that matters to you, and to work your a$$ off every day to achieve it. You're not taught that in school. It's a lesson you learn on your own, often late (as was the case with me).

And thanks to that lesson I'm a
happy and healthy human being!

And on top of that, you join an incredible community. With today's addiction to electronics and social media, many have lost that sense of closeness and connection. To see Aria training hard and sharing her successes and challenges with like-minded people who are all equally passionate (= crazy) is incredible.

I'm really proud of her, super impressed, and excited for her future. I'll keep tagging along on her runs while I can, so I can leach off some of the joy and excitement of running for the first time. To remind myself why I got into all of this in the first place. And to remind myself what I've accomplished. Here's to Aria and all the other runners. Keep going! And don't mind the glowing eyes in the dark!

It's Not a Big Deal

I wrote in the recap for last weekend's Patriot Half that it wasn't as tough as I'd expected. Two weeks ago, I rode 70 miles and wrote a whole post about it. I was like, that's far! Today I rode 80 miles and it just.... wasn't that bad. I mean, it was still hard. There were huge hills (2800 feet of elevation!). There was wind. The road was wet when I started and it got pretty hot later on.

In terms of the time spent, though, 5+ hours suddenly doesn't seem that onerous. Apparently I'm getting used to it.

The same thing happened when I started running. Early on, 20 mile training runs seemed crazy. Now a marathon doesn't seem like that big of a deal to me. When I first started swimming, I hated it. Now I  actually enjoy it, especially in open water. And while I didn't hate biking, I definitely wasn't looking forward to the really long rides. But now they seem doable.

Of course, training is still hard. It's still a lot of work. I'm not trying to dismiss people who train like crazy. And the truth is, I don't train as hard as I should, for reasons I mentioned in my last post. The volume though is pretty much there. I may neglect speed work, but I still want to be sure I can finish the Ironman.

Maybe it is a big deal and my brain just blocks out the memory...

My point is that anyone can do it, even a slacker like me. A lot of folks would look at my workouts and think they're ridiculous, that they could never do that. They can. They totally can. That's the whole point of a training plan: To work you up to that volume gradually, so that you get used to it.

You don't jump on a bicycle for the first time and ride 80 miles. You'd kill yourself. But you can do 10. And then 20. And then 30. And so on. Your decision about whether or not to try to do a triathlon, or a marathon, or whatever goal you have in mind, shouldn't be based on whether or not you think you can do it. You can. It's a matter of time, and desire, and not breaking a foot (and all the other real life obstacles).

Of course, very few people make that choice. It is scary! It's intimidating as heck! And it requires a great deal of self-sacrifice. I won't lie to you about that. And even though I say "it's not a big deal", it totally is with regards to the impact it has on your life.

There are some negative impacts. You have less time for your friends and family. You're often exhausted. You don't have energy to go out or devote yourself as much to other hobbies. Your whole life becomes training.

"What did I do today? Oh not much."

But the positive impacts are amazing. There's the obvious benefits to your health and long life. But the most important benefit is the massive amount of pride you develop for yourself. And the confidence you develop to not only train hard, but to take on any of life's challenges. And you make new friends, ones who are as crazy as you. But also ones who are driven and have an unmatched zeal for life. And that zeal is infectious.

I think it's well worth the sacrifice. Staying out late and drinking, or doing macro photography of a stinkbug, or sitting for three hours in a movie theater don't deliver nearly the high that crossing the finish line after almost 6 hours of pain and sweat does. And I can only imagine the high I'll experience when I cross the finish line at a full Ironman. I'll probably feel like I can conquer worlds after that.

So, actually, it is a big deal. It's a big deal on your life. But that 5 hour workout? Not a big deal. Don't let that scare you away from doing something truly amazing. Because you can do it. You have that strength. It's just a matter of wanting it.

Patriot Half 2017

I'm not sure how to feel about yesterday's Patriot Half. Sometimes when I write these race reports I make myself sound larger than life, bouncing from one epic adventure to another. With this particular triathlon though, I oscillate between being amazed at my accomplishment... and with being disappointed with my performance.

I didn't take my training seriously enough when I signed up for this summer of Ironmans. Or rather, I didn't think about the kind of training that would be required to do well. Meghan and Geoffrey signed up, so I signed up. Part of it was ego. If they can do it, then I can too, right? The other part was just... adventure. I often sign up for races spontaneously. I did three back to back marathons at the end of last year.

There's a more subtle reason for that. If I sign up for a race at the last minute, for "fun", then I have an excuse for not doing well. I don't have enough time to train properly, or I'm not recovered from my previous race. If I sign up for something a year ahead of time, I don't have that excuse. I have to accept the work that goes into the training, work my butt off, and accept the results. What I did in the race was all me.

For my first half ironman, I didn't do badly. I finished in under 6 hours. And at the risk of sounding like an a$$hole, it was easier than I expected. But then that's the point of your training. If you do it right, the race itself should just feel like the last workout, albeit a longer one. I only decided that I didn't do that well after seeing the results. Maybe that was my mistake!

I felt good in the swim. I used to hate swimming, and I was terrible at it. Now I actually enjoy it, and I can manage an almost-average pace for 1.2 miles. I went faster than I expected in the bike and felt solid the whole time. Partly that was because I got a brand new seat and Geoffrey put it on for me at 10pm the night before the race. I can't overstate how awesome the seat is and how much more powerful I felt because of it. And of course my run was great as always: The one thing I'm good at.

Thanks Aria for this pic!

The disappointment is that despite feeling strong 100% of the race and finishing strong, I was still slow. But that's a result of my training. I focus too much on burning calories, and skip out on the speed work I need. I have the endurance, and my body is made of solid concrete, but the speed just isn't there. Despite how that sounds, I don't really say that with guilt. I know this about myself. My goal was never to be super fast. It was to be able to say that I've done something that very few people would even consider trying.

I need to write this post. It's how I think things through. I only started to feel bad about myself when I saw the results. Out of 600 finishers (about 800 competitors total), I finished 499th in the swim, 452nd in the bike, and 52nd in the run overall. But I was in the top 50th% total time (probably thanks to the run). But I can't care about that now if I never cared about it before.  That's just silly.

My training for this has been endurance. Doing all of the things without gassing out. And in that I succeeded, while satisfying the second benefit of keeping my figure trim to satisfy my absurd vanity. I know my priorities are whacky, and that I squander my potential. But I've mentioned before that the most important aspect of training is to do it in such a way that it's sustainable. I have to do in such a way that I can keep going without burning out. And in that I've succeeded as well.

And of course, I've learned a lot from the training and from this race. And it motivates me. This experience is the sort of thing that gets me excited to change my priorities, to take my potential more seriously, and to look at the kind of work it would take to not just finish, but to excel. And I'm not done yet. This was only the first half. I still have Musselman and Mont Tremblant. I have a couple months of training left. I can't expect myself to be a champion the first time around. I've never been a swimmer or biker, and to finish a half-ironman.... that's pretty awesome.

I'm happy about that. See? Writing this post has helped. I feel a lot better now. It was pretty epic. And boy did I gobble up a lot of other competitors on the run. I was flying.

I've written this much and have said nothing about the actual race. Part of it - and Meghan mentioned this in the car too - is that nothing really crazy, funny, or adventurous happened. But let me churn through my meager brain cells and see what I can remember.

I got no sleep Thursday night. Geoffrey and I left really early to get to MA. I got no sleep Friday night either. After getting our bibs, getting our swim at the Y (the lake swim was closed at Long Pond) having a late dinner, and then doing last minute race prep, we didn't get to bed until 11pm. And we were up at 3:30am the next morning.

And it was pouring. The rain was torrential. The whole day Friday and all of Saturday morning it rained. We stumbled around in the dark, water smashing the roof, not feeling very excited. We were exhausted and stressed with anxiety. And we were worried the swim would be canceled. But we've all done countless races. We can get up, get ready, and get going purely on autopilot. And we did. We got to Cathedral Camp a bit late, but with enough time.

We set up our transition areas in the rain. We got our ankle bracelets and body markings in the rain. We put on our wetsuits in the rain. Then, miraculously, right at the beginning of the race, it stopped. It was supposed to rain all morning, maybe even thunderstorm. Instead, by about 7am when the race started, the rain just stopped. That helped the mood a lot. Suddenly I was excited!

Not much to say about the race itself. It was very pretty. And it was long. Very long. Although the brain has that strange power to ignore that sort of stuff after the fact. The volunteers were truly amazing. The race was exceptionally well organized. The people who made it all come together were awesome. And getting the medal at the end of almost 6 hours of exercise was an incredible feeling.

I have to thank Geoffrey and Meghan for being part of this incredible adventure. I wouldn't have even tried it if it wasn't for them, and sharing in the experience with them made it that much better. Geoffrey's daughter Aria was there, cheerfully supporting us throughout the entire time, and she made things much more fun as well. Meghan's family was amazingly generous and stuffed with us with food after the race. All the humans involved in this weekend were incredible, truly.

As always, that's what it comes back to for me: The people. I always seem to mention them at the end of my posts, and I realize they're the reason that it's all worth it. The friendship, the shared suffering, the respect, the love. We are all brothers and sisters in the craziness of life. And the people in my life have chosen to push themselves past the breaking point, and they inspire me to do the same. It makes us stronger as individuals, and makes the connection we share stronger as well.

Life is pain. But when you embrace that pain, you discover how much strength and beauty comes out of it.

---

That's what I typed out in the car on our way back from MA while Geoffrey drove. He had his own thoughts regarding the race..... It's not really appropriate for me to say what they are, good or bad. I hope he writes his own post. From my perspective, I was blown away by what he did. I look up to him with regards to training. His dedication far exceeds my own. He's also very hard on himself. That part I get.

The training is what makes us physically, mentally, and spiritually stronger. It's really easy to focus on the results of the race. But it's just a few hours out of the year. Of course we want to do well. And of course we're going to over-analyze the results. But it barely defines us. I've had karate tournaments where I did well, and many more where I didn't. But either way, my Sensei, my students, and their families respected me and appreciated me. The same is true with running, triathlons, and just about everything.

Meghan kicked huge amounts of butt and did super well. But that doesn't surprise me. She's in a whole different league of epicness.

The long car rides there and back gave me lots of time to be pensive. Training for and running marathons - and now training for and doing triathlons - is an escape for me. An escape from life. I wasn't happy with myself, and training gave me something to strive for and something to be proud off. But I'm isolated. I love the people I've met, but I don't see them nearly often enough.

I've been thinking a lot about the future. About trying to find a balance that lets me keep training, but also lets me enjoy other parts of life. Listening to music, taking photos, spending time with people that aren't necessarily maniacal athletes. Maybe even drinking again, if I can avoid the mistakes of the past. I'm not really sure yet, but I can't ignore these things.

I push myself every day to be a better person, but better for what? Any time I feel down, I go out for a run, or a bike ride, or whatever. It's become a replacement drug. Is that healthier than what I used to do? Is it sustainable?

I'm excited for my other races this season. Those are going to be amazing adventures. But I'm also excited about being done. About sitting down and making new plans. Change is scary, but it's also an opportunity. The Patriot Half wasn't the end of a long road. It was just the beginning. I accomplished something that just a year ago would've seemed ridiculous. And that gives me hope that all of life's challenges only seem challenging in my own head.

With enough dedication, anything can be accomplished.

The Long Ride

I've started writing my posts on Saturdays lately. I used to write them in the middle of the week, so folks could read them instead of monotonously pressing buttons. I think most of us have jobs that require the pressing of buttons. It doesn't quite have the same glory as slaying woolly mammoths, or skinning woolly mammoths, or cooking woolly mammoths.

I don't really know what people used to do.

But now that race season is here, I like to write thrilling and/or hilarious race reports. I didn't have a race today. But I did bicycle 70 miles. Most serious cyclists and triathletes have probably done this, like, a million times. But this is only the third time I've ever ridden this far, and the first time this year.

If it's not on Garmin, it didn't happen!

Not everyone is a super-turbo champ. Some folks may appreciate reading about the experience from someone who's still pretty new to triathlons and cycling and all that junk. Geoffrey spends hours every night on his bicycle. I'm pretty sure he's gotten it so it can transform into a fighter jet or a bazooka. Not USAT legal, but still pretty cool.

My bike is covered in rust and makes all sorts of noises. Before our first outdoor tri, Geoffrey said, "hey, your bike was literally about to break in half, which would have caused you serious bodily grievance. I fixed it." (Not his precise words, but close). I said, "oh, uhh, thanks!"

Which means I won't be writing a post about flying off a bicycle going 20mph. Sorry.

Given my lack of experience with all bike-things, I'm pretty nervous about the biking portion of the upcoming Ironman. The swimming I'm comfortable with, especially with a buoyant wetsuit that basically makes it impossible to drown. And running... I can run a marathon at the drop of a hat. But my training on the bicycle has been crap.

So I decided I needed to go really far. Also, my bike ride ended up obscenely hilly, but that's a good thing (now that I'm done with it). I needed to know that I could do it without blowing up. It was painful. It was hard. It was pitifully slow. But I did it. I even ran a 5k transition run afterwards, and my legs still functioned.

Those hills were absurd. And stupid. And awful.

In order to make the 5 hour ride more palatable, I decided to have a delicious destination at the halfway point. I picked Glenwood Pines, a fantastic restaurant I haven't been to in years. They've won Burger of the Year... a lot. I don't eat burgers, but I eat their other things. Instead of bringing food with me, I'd stop halfway, eat, and then bike back. Genius!

I started bright and early at the crack of 10am. Here's the breakdown of my ride by 5 mile segments.

Miles 0-5: This was terrible. My whole body hurt. I was riding into a headwind (which, hopefully, would be a tailwind on my second half). I had to keep stopping for traffic lights and dodging trucks. Barely a few minutes in, I was already thinking, "can I scrap this and do it tomorrow instead?" My body really didn't want to cooperate. I said screw you body and kept going. The first few miles are often the worst.

Miles 5-10: Why are the first few miles the worst? Because it takes a while for fat metabolism to kick in. And the endorphins, they take longer on the bike because you're not going as hard as a run or a lift. So I still felt like trash. The road was reasonably flat, with a few rolling hills. But I was tired. And I kept struggling against the wind. I had to force myself to not push too hard, despite my terrible speed. I had a loooong way to go. At the end of this stretch, I entered the first town I'd pass (the downhill in was nice). They had a dairy festival going on. Great.

Miles 10-15: Getting out of that town was a not-trivial hill. I know about that hill. I was ready for it. What I always forget is that there are still rolling hills after it. I passed what once was my favorite brewery on this stretch (still is, I suppose). It was too early for it to be open. I don't drink anymore, but it's probably still a good thing. My body was finally starting to kick into gear. I wasn't regretting this decision quite as much.

At least I can pretend to not
regret my decisions.

Miles 15-20: I was approaching Ithaca, the next city I'd be passing through. I'd broken the ride up into mini-goals, which helped. I was getting closer and that amped me up. Also, I knew I'd get to ride down a massive hill. It was about a 700ft drop. Crazy! I was excited. Not as excited about riding back up it on the return trip. But at that point I'd have no choice. I'm evil (to myself).

Miles 20-25: Weeeeeeeeeeeee..........!!! I coasted for over 2 miles. I hit about 40mph, even with a headwind. It felt incredible. Of course, riding this particular stretch of road is actually illegal for bicycles. But at least two cops passed me. They didn't give a $hit, and neither did I! Weeeeeee. Then I hit Ithaca and had to put on the brakes with the crazy traffic. Bummer. Then I got out and had to start riding up hill on the other side of the lake. Eep.

Miles 25-30: Hills hills hills. Not too bad though because I had a bit of a tailwind, or at least it wasn't a head wind. My body was feeling pretty decent by now, although I was barely a third done. I tried not to think about that. I passed my destination at mile 28.5. Cr@p, it was closer than I'd thought. I was going to have to keep going, and turn around and stop on my way back. Sigh.

Miles 30-35: I just kept thinking about food. Food food food. I just had to do this little out and back and then I'd get to EAT. Nevermind that it was 13 miles. Don't think about that. This stretch had a surprising amount of downhills. Spoiler alert, this was awful on the way back. The last mile before I got to turn around was a gnarly hill. Gah! I tried to push up it, but my legs just wouldn't cooperate. I just sat back and resigned myself to slowly peddling on the lowest gear.

Miles 35-40: I got really close to my friend's winery, which would have been a fun halfway point, but I turned around just shy of it. I got to ride that big hill down, which was nice. I dreamed of greasy food and felt happy. Then I hit all those hills again. I did not remember them being so long and so plentiful. This stretch was harsh. Eyes on the prize. I'm almost there. My body hurt. I pointedly did not think that I had almost 30 miles to go after I ate.

Miles 40-45: I stopped at 42. I ate. And it was incredible. I got a haddock sandwich and onion rings. And lots of ice water with lemons. It was the best meal I've ever eaten. The nice bartender refilled my water bottle for me with icy water. I meant to take a picture of the lake from here and completely forgot.

So here's a totally different picture
of a totally different lake.

Starting back up.... sucked. It was like starting over from scratch, except my belly was full and my legs were shot. It was really hard. I mean, I needed to eat, and I would have suffered even worse later if I hadn't. But still. This part was hard. All hills.

Miles 45-50: The hill down into Ithaca was too brief. The traffic wasn't as bad. And then. That hill. Three miles up the most massive hill I've ever ridden. My pace got down to 5.7mph. I could've run up the hill faster. It took an obscenely long time to get up the hill. It was a torturous slog the entire time. No happy thoughts here. Just slow, painful pedaling. I hated myself for tricking myself into doing this hill. #worthit?

Miles 50-55: I finally finished climbing the hill. But I was dead. I told myself I was on the home stretch. The worst was behind me. But there were still a lot of rolling hills left. But it didn't matter. Unless my bike exploded or I got hit by a car, I wasn't calling for a rescue. I just had to finish. My anguish didn't matter. This is the "benefit" of an out-and-back ride. You're locked in for that second half. Awesome.

Miles 55-60: I had a tailwind, finally. But I was so tired it barely helped my speed. I finally got to ride down the hill into that first town. Finally. After this it was just homeward. The dairy thing was mostly done. I had to stop at an intersection here. I almost missed the pole I was going to lean on. It bent precariously under my weight. I tried to avoid pulling my feet out of the cages if I could.

Miles 60-65: Uphill to get out of the town. Not a super bad hill, normally. But every hill I was hitting now, I was on the lowest gear. There was going to be no epic finish here. But once I got to the top, I felt better, knowing how little I had left to go. I actually felt really good. Not physically, but you know. At the end of this stretch, I could see my hometown. Woohoo!

Miles 65-70: This was it! This was the only portion of the trip that was completely flat, and I took full advantage of it. I flew into town averaging over 21mph. Why couldn't the whole ride have been like this? I pushed like crazy. I was so close! It felt amazing. I was actually grinning. I was ecstatic. And then, I hit 70.

Boom. Done.

I hit my watch. I rode the last half mile home very lazily. I can't overstate how happy I was. I'd survived. That distance. Those hills. The self-doubt. All of it, gone in a wisp. I. was. DONE.

Run: Just kidding! I got off my bike and ran a 5k. Zero thought behind this. Just autopilot. You bike, then you transition. It's just how it is. My legs felt OK on the run, actually. Then I was actually done. I took a cold shower, lay down flat for a while, then went and got a bunch of food.

I could recap some lessons from this, but I think you can glean them for yourself. I'll say though, that after this ride, I feel a lot better about the Ironman. I still have training to go, and a couple half-Ironmans in between. But I feel better about the whole thing. I won't be fast, but I'll finish. And I'll have that darn 140.6 decal on my car like all the other d0uchebags!

I lost a LOT of weight on today's ride...

Cooperstown Triathlon (Almost Killed Me)

This is my fourth post with "Almost Killed Me" in the title. I just counted. I thought there were more! But seriously. There were so many scenarios today in which I could have, like, seriously died.

You guys. Like. For real.

Geoffrey and I have been sober for precisely one year today. Here's my post when I decided to quit, written 6-3-2016: I've Had My Last Drink. And we celebrated by running a triathlon in Cooperstown, NY. That's not the reason I signed up for it, but I'm glad it worked out this way. I could not have picked a better way to honor one year of sobriety.

Here's how I actually signed up for it. I Googled New York State triathlons and picked the first one this season. I excitedly told Geoffrey, dude, I found us a tri the first weekend in June! He stared at me. Then he said, "I know, I told you about it a month ago."

He totally, totally did. And I had completely forgotten about it.

Last night, Friday, I had planned on going to bed super early. My alarm was set for 3:15am. I naively thought, "hey, I can totally get 8 hours of sleep!" Hahaha. Instead I stayed up late, reading a book I just got recently (The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson). Totally addicted. I finally went to bed some time after 9.

At 11 I was woken up by a TXT. That's not right. My phone automatically goes on Do Not Disturb after 10. Did I really... just, stay up that late? I'm so dumb. Anyway. It was a TXT from Geoffrey. He had gone to a concert where his son performed (his son is an awesome singer, and apparently a bada$$ stage performer too). The TXT said he was flaking on the tri. I went to sleep.

My alarm rang and I got up in the middle of the night. I eventually trudged downstairs looking for coffee. And there was Geoffrey, bouncing around like the Swedish Chef. Apparently three hours of sleep is totally enough to run a triathlon. I'm down with that. I'm pretty sure he and I have both run a marathon on only that much sleep. Which marathon was it, that we stayed up till 2am drinking then got up and ran an epic marathon? Oh, right, most of them.

Clean and sober you guys!

We packed all our $hit and left the house about 4am. After half an hour, Geoffrey reclined the passenger seat and went back to sleep. So I'm driving by myself, tired, for 2 hours, on roads I'm unfamiliar with. Most of the roads were marked as 55, but they were full of twists and turns and hills. And covered with deer. I mean, these roads were, just, swarming with creatures.

So, we almost died before we even got there. Lucky for Geoffrey, he slept through that part.

We got there and did all the things. Got our bibs, hit the bathrooms, set up our staging areas, hit the bathrooms, got our timing chips and some coffee, changed (hey, since I'm already in the bathroom...), put on our wetsuits. Of course, immediately after putting on my wetsuit, I had to pee. A lot. I did not take it off to pee. Let your imagination run wild on how I resolved that situation.

Did I mention it was cold? Really cold. On the drive, it was 37 degrees, 40 when we got there. I had to sit in my car and run the heat for a while before putting on my wetsuit. It was super cold. We had to swim in a cold lake. Then, soaked, we had to bike in crazy wind. And then run with zero feeling in our bodies. That was the outlook at the start of the race.

Before we even began, the race coordinator offered for folks to skip the swim and just bike and run. Several very intelligent people took him up on that. I'm not smart. I stayed.

Maybe you're not a triathlete. Let me tell you what happens when you swim in cold water. You can't breathe. One. In case you've never swam before, breathing is way critical. Your limbs get paralyzed. Two. It's like swimming with four baseball bats attached to your torso. Not great for your stroke. Your exposed flesh gets downright hypothermic. Three. I kept lifting my face up to "sight". But really, I just couldn't feel my face.

Oh, and all that can make your body freak out and you drown. So, almost death. Again. The race man had told us we could just swim from kayak to kayak. That's 100% legit per USAT rules. It's nice, but not very encouraging.

"Guys! You don't have to swim in this awful water! Really, you don't! But if you're super crazy, you can just go from kayak to kayak! And if you flounder and start drowning, we'll totally try to save you!"

I won't lie. It was awesome. And I swam my fastest ever.

We took forever in transition. Our bodies would not cooperate at all. Taking of the wetsuit is always rough, but try doing it with non-functional digits. My shoes were impossible to put on. And then I put on as much clothing as I had brought to the staging area. After several hours, I left the staging area and started biking!

This staging area

The ride was beautiful, but hilly. It was two loops. And it was uphill the entire time. Seriously. The entire time it was uphill. And the wind! I'm not sure what direction it was coming from, but it was always a headwind. No lie. I had zero feeling in my feet the entire time. I realize this post is loaded with hyperbole. But that thing is 100% true. I could feel precisely one pinky toe. That was it. Apparently Geoffrey couldn't feel any part of his legs.

We talked about this in the car on the way back, about how weird it is to bicycle when your body gives you no feedback on how hard you're working. Geoffrey had his power meter and heart rate monitor to give him that feedback. I had my rage and Russian stubbornness.

And to stick to the theme of the post, I totally could have fallen and died. Or at least gotten maimed. Probably by a passing deer.

And the run! The run is the one thing I'm good at. I've gotten my swimming up to "average" (which actually makes me happy). My biking is still slow. But running! Kapow. I nuked the run. But I had no sensation in my feet at all. One of Geoffrey's buddies, Joe, who was there too, described it as running with balled up socks in your shoes. That's what it felt like. The sensation returned to my feet in patches. So it felt like there was something in my shoe the whole time.

Of course, I wore my minimalist shoes, and without any tactile feedback, any errant rock could have killed me (ok, maybe not). The run was also two loops, with a huge hill that we had to do twice. I smoked that hill and averaged 6:49 for the whole 5k. Don't ask me my speed on the other two portions.

Geoffrey got third in his division and got a pint glass, which smashed to pieces thanks to the wind (really for serious). I don't know how I did because the timing company screwed up. But I felt good! On our way home, Geoffrey fell asleep again. I drove recklessly, half-asleep myself. I'm surprised the many rumble strips I hit didn't wake Geoffrey up.

All that makes it sound like it was a miserable experience. It was amazing. It was a perfect first tri of the season. As I mentioned to Geoffrey, we got the brutal race out of the way, so that we'd have "good race karma" going forward.  I loved the challenge. The feeling of crossing the finish line was incomparable. Our medals were truly earned.

Ironman training is intense. It's just month after month of exhausting work. The Cooperstown triathlon reminded me why we do all that hard work. It's one of the funnest and awesomest things you can ever do. The natural high you get from it.... Well worth the risk of death. I would absolutely do it again. Frozen water, suicidal deer, and all.

Geoffrey and I have suffered through that together. Battling our personal demons. Making the decision to quit drinking to exorcise those demons. And then striving to become better people via exercise (see what I did there? Homonym for the win!). And after a year of brutal self-purification, we rewarded ourselves.... with a brutal race.

Today's race reminded us how strong we are. What we are capable of. Why we do what we do. How much we are capable of. I only wish I could confer that empowering sense of pride to all the other folks in the world who struggle and suffer. But maybe a few will read this and turn onto that difficult road. Because the reward at the end of that road is glorious.

Thank-you for reading!

Well worth the almost-death!