When Cats Interrupt Ironman Training

90% of the time my thoughts are steeped in training, but occasionally I’ll remember why I am a lover of human behavior and truly crave bizarrity.  The following is a simple, yet highly representative example of why I find life so damn amazing.

My dog plowed through her last bit of food this morning, so I drove to PetSmart on my way to lunch.  As I scoured the rows for a parking spot, a woman walked by in knee high black boots, a tight black dress and a body any red-blooded male would notice.

After parking I walked inside and, low and behold, there she was . . . looking at bird cages.  It wasn’t a blatant red flag, but certainly pink.  I went about my business and picked up a fresh bag of fish/rice delight for Mattie, and slung it over my shoulder like a cowboy on my way to the counter.

While suffering through an extended credit card mishap with the person in front of me, I noticed “Ms. Black Boots” standing in line behind me.  She had a distant and mysterious look, along with several cans of cat food in her basket.  She stared right past me, but  was clearly in heavy thought.

She had a bit of a frown, almost a scowl, but then, in an instant, her face contorted into the biggest smile I’d seen all day. It was a startling transformation that came with a tinge of crazy only the creepiest of clown clown could manufacture.

Her arm shot like a laser at the magazines and ripped an issue of “Cat Lover” from the wire rack.  Without missing a beat, this enigmatic woman started laughing hysterically and spoke in tongue while I leaned back on my heels looking for hidden cameras.

Then, in a move that may be unprecedented in the arena of public behavior, she starts “meowing” in very quick bursts while looking at the cover.

“Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow.”

I inched closer to the door and debated leaving Mattie’s food on the counter, but it was too late.  The situation had officially arrived in “Whacksville.”

She unleashed a bellowing laugh, pulled the magazine close to her face and started planting real life kisses on the “Cover Cat.”

“Mmmm…. smack smack smack smack….  giggle…. mmm… kiss… kiss….. ohhh….. such a cutie… I love you!”

I’m looking at the cashier and he is completely oblivious to her behavior while waiting for me to pay.  I quickly swiped my card and did my best to focus on the transaction, but all I could hear was, “Yummy….sooo cute… mmm… kiss… kiss… kiss…”  I couldn’t stomach a look but would not have bet against tongue.  She was insatiable.

Much like Bill Murray sauntering away from the destruction in Caddyshack, I abandoned the crime scene and marveled at the blessing I had just witnessed.

Anyway, there must be a lesson here and I am all ears.

Bad Start to 2013 Training

Let me tell you, I am not quite in sync with the official Ironman training.  The schedule is laid out like a ripe bag of apples waiting for a sinful chomp, but this holy roller isn’t hungry!  Yet . . .

I started yesterday with lower body weights and hit the trainer bike last night, but tonight’s swim was sh*t bag.  The plan was to do 40 x 50’s, then finish with an easy 1,000 pull.  I couldn’t find my breath for the life of me and while I’m sure that is somehow ironic, it’s nowhere near finding 10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife.

Anyway, like U2 says, I’m gonna walk on and make love to my bike tomorrow.  And while I’m at it, is it just me or does riding trainers suck?  I’ve been on mine maybe 6 times and I am genuinely concerned that it’s not gonna work.  I’m seriously contemplating riding in the rainy 42 degree weather tomorrow instead of riding in place while my dog looks at me in sadness for two hours.  I think I may need a new seat as well, so if anyone (coach?) has a good recommendation, slide it over.

Sunday is an easy 1:15:00 run, which I’m really looking forward to.  I mean, other than the fact that runners can be kind of weird, I’m really getting into this archaic form of transporting my body and soul.  There is definitely something scintillating about reaching new goals and I’m sure that’s because I’ve only been running for a year and being able to say I’m going for an easy one hour run kinda cranks my jack.

DIET QUESTIONS

I just ate pasta for the third night in a row and I am seriously concerned I have an addiction.  I’m still not sure how I want to handle my diet for this race, but pretty sure it will not center on pasta.  I’m leaning toward fish, greens, and potatoes.  Any thoughts from the gallery?

 

Caffeine and Training

Sometimes I feel like a real jackass writing about Ironman training.  I mean, who am I to figure like I know stuff?

But then, I start to rationalize . . . “Hey, maybe I do know stuff.”  Well, at least I know what’s going on in my own mind and body.  That counts for something, right?

Today, what’s going on in my mind and body is a little more stillness than usual.  Last night I ran with the East Nasty crew, then had pizza, a salad, and a Schlitz tallboy before heading home to bed at 10.  When I woke up, I felt rested for the first time in weeks.  Sleep matters.

Monday through yesterday afternoon of this week I was on edge.  I wasn’t sure why, but love to speculate about my health.  This morning it came to me.  I haven’t had caffeine for the last two days.

This is a sticky subject with me.  I have a natural lean toward having a buzz and being a tad compulsive about it.  During my college years it was beer.  For hangovers I drank water.

I used to give my buddies a lot of shit for slamming down soda (we called it pop).  I never drank coffee, either, unless it was to be cool on all night exam crams.  But a few years after college, I started a business and became a Mountain Dew whore.

I pounded yellow juice all day long and was typically short tempered, though I knew that wasn’t acting like “me.” I never openly associated my crankiness and lethargy to the drug.  In Alcoholics Anonymous they say that “Alcohol is cunning and baffling,” but now I’m starting to think the same can be said for caffeine (or any addictive substance).

Of course, this isn’t for everyone to hear.  I have a tendency to overdo things.  Like pound not one, but two large coffees in search for that edge.  I’m not even sure if I’ll stop or not, but have decided to turn that one over to a higher power.

Lessons From a Dog and Old Russians

I marvel at my dog’s ability to hit top speed.  She could be in a dead sleep and pop to all fours in less than a second.  That same feat normally takes me several snooze sessions and a few groans.  I’ll open the door and she’ll be at full stride chasing a bird the minute she hits the ground.

Her diet consists of the same exact thing every day.  Roughly a cup of Blue dog food in the morning, a couple treats at lunch and another cup of food at night.  She only drinks water.

Is there something to this?

I recently read “Born to Run” and the centerpiece of the story was the Tarahumara tribe that is famous for running super-human distances of 50 to 100 miles just for the hell of it. By all accounts their diet seems remarkably consistent and simple.

Hall of Fame baseball player, Wade Boggs, is another guy who pops into my head.  He allegedly ate only chicken before games.  He was one of the steadiest hitters I’ve ever watched in baseball. Nothing flashy, but almost like endurance hitting.  Night after night he would step into the batters box and perform one of the hardest sporting feats with amazing consistency.

And as I write this, a friend reminds me of the old Dannon commercials featuring 100 year old Russians who ate yogurt like fiends.  And man were they spry!

Now, I’m just throwing this out for discussion, but are modern diets too diverse?

It goes without saying that it’s harder to work out when we’re not feeling well or exhausted.  Could we be putting unnecessary strain on our digestive and immune systems with a wide variety of foods?

Today’s Diet:
Breakfast: Coffee
Lunch: Salmon, broccoli, blue cheese potato chips, cinnamon rolls
Snack: Hershey’s Bar
Dinner: Homemade chicken noodle soup, cottage cheese, two small pickles
Writing drinks: De-caf Coffee, Seltzer Water

A Picture is Worth Dozens of Pounds

My good friend Roger is 5 weeks away from running his first marathon and has a photograph of me to thank.  Actually he was in the picture too, and what happened to us that blurry night was an undeniable catalyst for change.

Our friendship started innocently enough around two years ago when Roger and I (Both Wisconsin natives) hatched the grand plan for Badger Nation Nashville at the Village Pub in Inglewood, TN.  Wisconsin football was on a roll and we wanted to capitalize by using beer and cheese to seduce local residents into our social circle.  After several PBRs we penned these highly sophisticated, yet simple bylaws that have Constitution-like staying power:

Official Badger Nation Nashville Bylaws

1. No rooting against the Badgers.
2. Spread word of the Badger.
3. Don’t shoot badgers. (Ben’s Law)*
4. Don’t diss Jeffrey Steele.
5. Meet at Village Pub & Grill when you can make it.

Fast forward two years after the “bylaw meeting” to my house, where a nice group of Badger Nation Nashville kids are celebrating another big victory.  Roger and I had been drinking for about 8 hours and decided to give everyone a treat by singing Wisconsin’s Alma Mater song, “Varsity,” which was quickly caught on video.  The playback was astonishing.

I had always felt pretty good about my body, but when I watched the video all I could see was a blubbery seal flopping around on a leather sofa.  I begged fellow BNN member, Brian, not to post it on the web and thankfully he didn’t know how.  I went silent and may have even retreated to my bedroom to sulk. What I didn’t realize at the time was, the video had a similar impact on Roger.

It didn’t happen immediately, but our minds shifted to training mode.  Roger joined Weight Watchers and started running.  I laid around for a few more weeks before Jim convinced me to do Couch to 5K training.  I really didn’t want to run, but that video looped in the back of my mind. For the first time in my life I felt like a fat ass!  I had no choice.

I have told this story a bunch of times and I’m convinced that taking a picture of yourself is the best form of motivation.  Preferably late in the night after a drinking or eating binge.

Now, Roger and I are hatching different plans.  Five short months after that fateful photography, we did the Country Music Half Marathon together and the ante continues to rise.

What started as a 5K for me has turned into Ironman training.  Roger is ready for his full, with aspirations of a Half Ironman next summer.

It has been a dicey journey that started on a bar napkin and evolved into something etched in stone.  And even though the Badgers suck this year, I think Roger would happily join me for an encore rendition of Varsity after the last game of the season.

* Montana Ben is a Pub regular who spends his summers in Montana shooting badgers so they don’t fuck with his cattle.

A Zen Wake Up Call

Sometimes when I think how good my book can be, I can hardly breathe.
–Truman Capote

The good news is . . . my IT Band pain seems to be gone.  The bad news is . . . I absolutely sucked on my swim tonight.

I realize bad nights are imminent, but this was just an awful performance.  I could barely breathe, and swimming three measly laps in a row was kicking my ass.  After some serious staring at the ceiling, I have concluded it must be one or a combination of these three things:

1.  Horrible eating
2.  Too much beer
3.  Watching an Ultra Marathon

Now, I’m pretty sure it’s not the last one–although I did spend about four hours on a bike.  The bad diet and party train, however, are likely suspects.

I’m not gonna sit here and labor over my transgressions, but I need to realize training is fragile.  I put serious effort into strengthening and working through my IT band when I could barely walk, and tonight’s swim is a hard slap in the nuts to keep my diet in check.

An Ironman is no joke and on nights like this, I realize that, not only would I not have finished, I would have likely drowned before the first buoy.  And while I am a little pissed about the performance, I’m glad it happened.

Learning and forgiveness are the core of my training.  I won’t learn everything overnight and I have to forgive myself when I don’t.

My memory is short and I tend to cheat the present by not being the best I can in that moment.  But the goal is to learn a little more every day and the accumulation of those lessons will be the payoff in training, health, and life.

A Runner’s Conversation

You know, injury talk can be the worst.  I mean, if it bores me, then it must bore everyone else in the world.  It’s so self-serving, but I guess that’s what we do.  We talk about what’s on our minds and pain is important:

Me: “You’ll be happy to know that my knee is still a little jacked.”

You: “Well, this prick I work with is really getting on my nerves.”

Me: “Oh, wow.  Yeah, I haven’t been sleeping much lately!”

You: “Really?  Yeah, like today when he punked me right in front of my boss.”

Me: “Man, Yeah, I don’t know if it’s something I’m eating or money issue stress.”

You: “Sometimes I just feel like kicking him in the nuts!”

Me: “I’ve been meditating more and even thinking about going to church again because it’s wearing me down.”

You: “I called in sick today because I couldn’t face that asshole.”

Me: “I don’t know, maybe I just need to change my diet back to gluten free.”

You: “Speaking of gluten, I’d like to kick him right in the ass!”

Me: “Maybe I’ll just call my father and tell him he’s forgiven.”

You: “Well, I guess I’d better be going.”

Me: “I hear you.  Good seein ya!”

And so it goes.

I think this is why I like writing.  You either have to listen to what I’m saying or walk away.  Either way, I win!

So, last night was my first run in a while, and am happy to report, four miles with East Nasty and no knee pain.  In fact, I felt better after that run than I have after any run in recent memory.  I think it had a lot to do with rest, but mainly the strengthening exercises and an ongoing lust for my foam roller.

I had about 30 minutes to spare before the run, so I ran a little Jive Talkin‘ through the speakers and did a slew of warm-up work.  Everything from pushups and situps to running in place and jumping jacks.  I also did some hip flex and ass strengthening exercises (which are paying off nicely by the way).  By the time I left for the run I was sweating and wearing knee wraps.

This injury could be a blessing in disguise.  After powering my way from not running at all to a half marathon and eventually an Olympic Triathlon, I am finally getting a grip on balance and smart approaches, including the warm up.

In this way running is a lot like writing.  They tell you to sit down and write for ten minutes or so and that’s when you’ll actually be saying something worth reading.  In other words, warm up your brain. (In other, other words, I probably shouldn’t have published this crap!).

Friday Night’s Alright for Writing

I used to get fired up beyond belief when I’d hear “Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting” by Elton John.  I’ve always been a huge EJ fan, but at some point I discovered that Bernie Taupin was writing all the lyrics, and to this day, Bernie is the only person in music that I truly want to meet.  And why not when a dude is dropping this kind of ink on his tablet:

It’s getting late have you seen my mates
Ma tell me when the boys get here
It’s seven o’clock and I want to rock
Want to get a belly full of beer

My old man’s drunker than a barrel full of monkeys
And my old lady she don’t care
My sister looks cute in her braces and boots
A handful of grease in her hair

Somehow Bernie always knew what was going on in my life.*  Dad was drunk, mom didn’t care, and I did want a belly full of beer.

I grew up in Wisconsin, which is the Harvard of beer drinking states and my degree was far more potent.  Every college town in Wisconsin claims to have the most bars per capita on a certain street or 3 block radius or along a river and after a lot of research, I can honestly say they are all right.

I’m not certain it’s something to brag about, but my drinking people can stand toe to toe with anyone.  A negative split comes natural to a beer marathoner.  We start slow for a couple, level out for the next 18 or so, then kick for the final 6.2, leaving .8 sitting as a rock in the middle of all the empties.

What does all of this have to do with the Ironman?  I guess the fact that I am home on a Friday night, writing instead of testing more beer to make sure it still tastes like beer.

Nine consistent months of training has created better habits and over the last couple months my urge to drink has slowly faded.  I’m not saying I won’t drink or don’t want to, but it is getting really easy to pass up.  Even after a horrible week at work (when my car would typically steer itself to the local pub) I will come home with intention of doing something productive.

The workout is always waiting and when you’re talking about an Ironman, certain things have to take priority.  Two months ago I would have felt a little naked if I didn’t have a 12 pack on reserve.  Now there’s not even room for beer with all the rotting vegetables in my fridge.

That said, as a proud graduate of Beer Drinking U, I never say never.  Tomorrow is Saturday and I could easily be drunker than a barrel full of monkeys.  Maybe that’s why Ironman Wisconsin is the perfect choice.

*  It should be noted that these are not necessarily my favorite Taupin lyrics.  I mean, they are good, but Bernie can wrench your heart dry, then fill you with nectar of the Gods thirty seconds later.

The Fab Five

Tonight, it was dinner with four guys who just happen to be joining me for Ironman Wisconsin.  I was like, “Holy shit, everyone’s here,” but I shouldn’t have been that surprised because we planned to meet at Calypso Cafe to draw up training plans with our coach.  And while I’m not sure if it’s going to stick, for now we’re calling ourselves the Fab Five.

The first thing Jim said to me was, “Please tell me you’re drinking beer.”  I agreed without missing a beat and listened with a mouthful of hops as he segued into a tactical attempt to commandeer my basement for the next three months.

“You can stop me anytime, but Mark and I were thinking, since you have such a great basement, it would make a lot of sense if you wanted to be the headquarters for our P90x workouts.”  I told him I’d answer after I finished my Yazoo Pale Ale.

I think the guys would agree that one of the coolest things about training for this Ironman is the group we have assembled.  There is a wide range in experience as well as age.  Jim has done two Ironman distance triathlons, Kevin has done one, and everyone has done a 1/2, including Daniel and Mark.  I have done none of the above.

We have a lot in common, we’re all East Nasty, we are all sorta white, and we all have liked beer at some point, but tonight’s key realization was that each of us will represent a different age group.  I, of course, will be the oldest and impart serious wisdom as we glide through the process.

Our diet and staying in the moment are important.  We ate beans and rice like real runners and talked about how we planned to document the road to IMWI.  Mark immediately stepped to the front and gave us carte blanche of his video studio and staff to produce a high end video, which was super cool and a major team-player move.  I, on the other hand, squashed a dream by rejecting my basement as P90x headquarters.

What I like about what we have going is that everyone is kind of a “fuck-around,” but clearly respects that mountain in front of us.  We joke about everything and anything, but when the “I-word” comes up, these cats realize process is king.  This isn’t about ripping apart some race a year from now, it’s about building our mind, body, and soul.  It’s about coming together and trusting the true energy of life to build us into stronger people.  We’d all probably laugh about that line as well, but know it’s true.  There’s magic in the pursuit of something that tests your will.

Our coach never did make it, but the good news is . . . he was being held hostage by a serious running operation at another location.  As the oldest and wisest member of the this consortium, I am banking on the fact that “coach” accumulated even more wisdom tonight and the Fab 5 will be better off when he brings it to our next dinner table on Sunday.

Why Not You?

I’m finally reading Born to Run, which is an otherworldly story about a mysterious tribe of super- centered and super-human athletes nestled in remote caves of Mexico.  They’re called Tarahumara (the Running People) and routinely run for dozens or hundreds of miles in the course of a normal day.  It is their lifestyle.  Children run free as soon as they leave the cradle, adults run for fun, ritual, and competition, and elderly Tarahumara continue this tradition late into life.

In Chapter 6 they referenced a 90 year old man who commonly hikes 20 plus miles into the mountains.  The writer asked another tribesman how a man of his age could complete such feats of strength and endurance?  In true Tarahumara fashion the man simply said, “Because no one told him he couldn’t.”

I once heard someone say “Florida is God’s waiting room,” and while it made me laugh, I always thought it was sad.  Sure, we get old, but I’ve never liked our culture’s view of aging.  Why do we settle for a pension, rocking chair and a handed down afghan while watching re-runs of I Love Lucy? (Well, besides the fact they are hilarious!?!)

My father has never been the healthiest of men and, in many ways, has succumbed to the myth of aging, but I have always admired his passion for being a good golfer.  In fact, because I don’t see him often, that’s how I gauge his health.  He can still hit the ball as far as me and routinely scores in the 70’s as he approaches that age.  More importantly, he does it often.

Like many people I have casually thrown the phrase, “It sucks to get old,” but never wanted to accept it.  Ache has always been a part of my life and in youth you simply play through the pain.  I’d drag myself back to shortstop and embrace the next challenge.  The body always adapted and found its way back to “normal.”

In January I attempted to run as an endurance exercise for the first time in my life.  I wasn’t sure I had the patience to stick with the “slow build” Couch to 5k program, but, for once was determined to follow the rules.  There were many days I didn’t want to go, but I dragged myself to NRC and met the group.  There were other times when I felt good on an off day and wanted to test my limits, but resisted.  I stayed on course and credit that program for everything I have done since.

The more we do something, the more it brands our fiber.  It becomes natural like running is to the Tarahumara.  Whether it is writing, reading, photography, dancing, swimming, biking, running; we can do it if we create a good base and develop habits.

The Tarahumara seem super human, but for them, running is easy.  It’s kinda like lounging in a recliner to us.  Running People don’t design spread sheets or sit through webinars, but they do make sales calls (in person) and drink corn beer like it’s a treat from God.  My guess is, to them, posturing in an ergonomic chair and staring at a computer screen sounds harder than running 100 miles.  It’s what we do that makes a difference.

So, I have set my sights on the “impossible.”  A 2.4 mile swim, a 112 mile bike, followed by a full marathon.  The marathon alone (on my best day), will be 240 of those first day sixty-second-runs in succession.  The bike ride will take at least 6 hours.  The swim is the equivalent of 42 lengths of a football field.  But, like the elderly man, if I believe it, who’s to say I can’t?