Dropping bricks, and swimming in sweat

So in my head the Ironman training has officially begun, and I’ll start reporting training miles and the effect it’s all having on my slightly (and by that I mean greatly) unprepared body.

Yesterday I ran 5 hilly miles in Woodward Park. At noon, in what felt like at least 100-degree weather. I’m a little afraid of checking what the actual temperature was, though. If it was more than 100 it just makes me look more dumb, and less than 100 means I’m in worse shape than I thought.

As runs go, it was pretty good. I didn’t check my pace until I hit the second mile, and I was stronger than I thought, sub 10 minute miles.  Then I hit the really hilly part and slowed down, but I expected it.

At the same time I’m starting to train more, I’m also trying to learn more about triathlons, including all the lingo. 

Brick is one of my favorite tri words. It means combining two of the triathlon sports into a workout by swimming then riding, or riding then running.

So far I’ve tried one brick, a four-mile run after a 25-mile bike ride. It was less than a huge success, and showed me that all my running hasn’t prepared for this.

Lot’s of work to do in the next year, for sure.

Like I said, yesterday was a run day, but it was hot enough that I tried to get at least one of my triathlete friends to let me call it a brick. I mean, if I’m swimming in sweat while I run, it seems like it should count. Shannon said no, however, so back to the drawing board.

One really good part of the run was that I chose my course carefully. I wanted to run a route that I’d run with Team in Training coaches in the past, and it made a big difference.

I ran at Woodward Park, where we like to give names to the hills to make them seem friendly or more challenging.

The tallest, steepest, hill is called Killer Hill. A series of smaller hills are the Roller Coasters. A loop around those two places and another steep climb is the called the Figure Eight.

The water fountain stop is the Compass.

When I reached Killer Hill, I could hear Mark and John telling me to hold my form, and run to the top. On the Roller Coasters I could imagine them at the top telling people to press on.

On the path to the Compass I could hear another coach, Farshad, saying “pick it up, pick it up” which means run as fast as you can until your heart explodes and your lungs bail out on you.

It’s good that I love Farshad, because otherwise I’d really think he’s trying to kill me.

All in all it was a great run, summed up nicely by a short conversation with another lunatic who was out in the heat for a walk.

As we met on the trail I slowed down and said “Man, we seem so smart, but we’re out here sweating.”

He smiled, slapped my outstretched hand and said “yeah brother, but if we can be out here in this, we can do anything.”

Training totals:

5 miles of running

2 gallons of sweat.

…be a killer whale, and the Winnebago pucker factor

Two-part post today since I didn’t post yesterday.

A little back-story for the uninitiated. At marathons, and apparently at some triathlons, they have special competition classes for those of us who are “seismically challenged.” Larger men are grouped in the “Clydesdale” division, and women are classified as Athena’s.

It’s a point of pride I guess. My friend Jason finished third in the big-dude division in Oklahoma City’s marathon and immediately dubbed himself the “third fastest fat guy.”

So, being a current a current Clydesdale for sure, I was browsing online yesterday for triathlon gear – shorts and wetsuits, when I had an inspiration.

I don’t care if it costs more or doesn’t fit as well, but if I buy a wetsuit myself I’m buying an Orca brand suit. I mean, seriously, if you are going to be a whale anyway, why not be a killer whale?

Ok, back to the tales of training.

My plan for the blog is to report in on training miles for all three events – swim, run and cycle – after I register, which could happen soon.

In the meantime, I’ll just share the more interesting parts of the experience, like the Winnebago that passed me so close on a narrow winding road today that I could have stepped in and used the restroom.

Which at the point would have been good because that behemoth scared the you know what out of me.

I rode today with Craig Kohlruss, a photographer from work who is also a more experienced cyclist than me.

I know what you’re thinking, right now a kid who rides his tricycle once a day is more experienced than me, but give Craig some credit, he’s done a few 100-mile bike rides, and took me on what was my most challenging ride yet – the Millerton Store loop above Fresno.

The ride had some hills, and there’s not a lot to talk about there other than to say “hills can he hard.” Hard things are going to happen a lot in the next year, though.

The Winnebago was noteworthy, though, because we had just talked about what it felt like to have one pass you so close.

You know if you car how it feels when a semi passes you, that big push of air that jostles you around. Well, yeah, it’s worse on a bike.

After it passed us Craig, who was in front at the time, turned around and laughed in that kind of “holy shit did you see that?” way.

A few minutes later I got a different kind of pucker factor experience when we reached the long downhill stretch into Friant. I’ve had a little coaching on how to go downhill fast and safe from my buddy Becky, who is an Ironman finisher.

You tuck your legs in close to the frame, go into the drop position and keep you hands on the brakes.

I did all that, and as I watched my speed zoom over 30, then 35, I remembered something else she said , that it just takes getting used to. Yeah, not used to it yet, so I slowed down and Craig barreled on ahead at full speed.

Fun times.

I have started running again, but so far just short and slow run, and you don’t see as much exciting stuff. This weekend I hope to get in my first training swim, and have a serious conversation with a few other lunatics who are thinking about joining in the Ironman experience.

Who knows, next week the blog could feature some c0-stars.

The splatter speed of bees, and a glimpse at the challenges ahead

I learned this week that you can hit a bee doing 22 miles an hour on a bike and it will bounce of your sunglasses, but at somewhere between 22 and 27 miles per hour, the bee becomes a pollen-colored skidmark on your watch.

I also learned that bees don’t automatically sting if they fly into your bike helmet, no matter what speed you’re travelling at.

My bee education came during my longest bike ride yet and in the first week of what is probably going to turn out to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever tried.

I’ve decided that since I can’t run a marathon as fast as I want, training for an Ironman Triathlon is a good way to get in better shape. A way, in other words, to change my body from rubber to Iron.

It was a video that convinced me that an Ironman was something I could do. Ok, actually it was one guy in the video who looked rounder than me.

If that guy could do this, so could I, right? I’m sure no bad decisions in the history of the world started that way.

So I’ve done what every sane person does when they start thinking about trying something new – tell your friends you’re going to do it, locking in the peer pressure from the start.

So the story starts with the video and a pledge to sign up for the 2010 Ironman in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.

First, the facts.

 An Ironman distance triathlon starts with a 2.4 mile swim, then transitions (I’m a rookie but I already know this is an important word to the tri crowd) to a 112-mile bike ride, and finishes with a 26.2 mile run.

Here are some other fun facts.

The longest I’ve ever swam was about 1.5 miles. In a pool. Taking breaks when I got tired. The Ironman swim is just two laps, in a lake. A cold, cold lake.

My longest bike ride was the 34-mile bee experiment two days ago. And I stopped in the middle.

The good news is that I’ve survived three marathons, and only once had my runner friends convinced I had died out on the course.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that the next 13 months or so are going to be interesting.

Or hellish.

I’m going to have to make myself do things that hurt, frequently. I’m going to have to wear overly tight workout clothes, sacrifice sleep, food and ultimately beer, and learn new terms like transition (the time between the different events on a triathlon) or cadence or (man I hope not) road rash.

I’m probably going to have shave my legs, which I should turn into some kind of cancer fundraiser.

I’m hoping that it all ends with me running across a finish line smiling, and that I don’t have too many bees stuck to my glasses, or teeth.

After all, I’m sure there will be a photographer there, and it’s going to be important to look good for that picture.