Boulder 70.3: Smooth and Steady AKA "Learning To Let Go"

At the beginning of the season, my expectations for this race were pretty simple. Kansas 70.3 was intended to be my max effort PR attempt, and Boulder was supposed to be a good training day to fine tune nutrition, hydration, and race systems. When my Kansas race blew up, I decided that I would try again for a PR in Boulder(this was the pride talking). A few weeks passed and I really began to take stock of what I thought was reasonably attainable. My motivation and spirit were in the toilet after taking such a beating, the temperatures at home were consistently miserable, and my desire to train hard was nonexistent. I tried to forget about Boulder for a little while. I ran trails...lots of trails. I did short and fun trail races surrounded by good-hearted and supportive people(I'm talking about Trail Nerds and Mud Babes...love you guys/gals!). I ran for no other reason than to make myself happy. I rode the bike a few times, and I swam a few times...mainly just to reassure myself that I still knew how.

I rested. I recovered. I simply let myself do whatever it was I wanted to do on any given day. It was a nice change from the highly structured training plan I had in May, and though I worried that my fitness was suffering greatly, I did not worry so much that it affected my mood.

Boulder 70.3 was, once again, simply an opportunity to get a good long training day in the mountains. When I finally let go of the notion that I'd again try to break 6 hours, or even to attempt a PR, I promised myself that I'd put "have fun" high on my list of race priorities.

This whole 6 hour thing had really started to weigh on me heavily. For my very first triathlon, Kansas 70.3 in 2009, my original goal had been sub-6. And for the next 70.3 I did in Galveston, same goal. In fact, I had attempted this distance 4 times, all with the goal of breaking 6 hours, and had still yet to achieve that mark. To say that these races were failures would be going too far, but all along I knew I was capable of doing it, and the repeated disappointments were increasingly discouraging, especially after I was so certain it would happen this last time.

So to be completely honest, letting that 6 Hour monkey off of my back was incredibly liberating. I was going to have a fun, happy, carefree, and smooth race in Boulder if I could do nothing else. In fact, my absolute #1 goal for the day was simply not to get sunburned. But I had a plan for that, if nothing else. Also, as a result of my asthma attack in June, I was now on a new drug called Singulair which was intended to prevent bronchospasm. This race was to be the true litmus test as to its efficacy. 

On race day, the temps were forecasted to peak in the 90's, but most likely not until after I was done racing. This was encouraging, as I was really getting sick of racing in extreme heat, and it would make hydration and keeping cool slightly simpler. I had also invested in a white long-sleeve race top made of cooling fabric. With the dual purpose of keeping the sun off of my skin and keeping cool(it has 3 pockets along the spine specifically designed to hold ICE!!!), I considered this my secret weapon.

The Swim

My past two 70.3 swims had gone very poorly. No wetsuits, leaking goggles, and incredibly choppy water had resulted in my two worst swim splits ever, worse even than my first triathlon which I'm pretty sure I doggy-paddled the entire way. Boulder Reservoir had been deemed "wetsuit legal" as of that morning and the waters were calm, but my biggest concern was the altitude. I had very little experience swimming at altitude and had no idea how I would perform. Again, the goal was slow, smooth, happy, and easy, so I tried to worry as little as possible and was content to simply wait and see what would happen. Additionally, I promised myself I would not look at my watch until I was back on dry land.

Last swim wave of the day...horn sounds...easy stroll into the water...no rush...find some space... find a rhythm...breath easy. Breath easy?

Yes. I was swimming and breathing easily, more than 4000 feet higher than my lungs were accustomed to. This was exceedingly unexpected, seeing as how just the day before I was out of breath carrying my luggage to Delaware's car. I considered the likelihood that I was simply moving very slow, decided I didn't give a good god-damn, and continued swimming comfortably.

I didn't pay attention to how long I thought I had been out, I just focused on each stroke, each breath, and sighting for the next buoy. I made the first turn, and then the second turn, and I could see the beach far in the distance. Some amount of time passed and I was rapidly approaching the swim exit. My curiosity grew and grew, but I did not give in. I did not look at my watch. I swam until my fingers hit sand, and then I popped onto my feet, jogging towards the timing mat. Dry land. Time to relieve my curiosity.

Final swim time: 36:40. I was shocked. I didn't give it too much thought at the time because I immediately set myself to the task of completing my swim-bike transition, but something subtle stirred in my heart. I had a new swim split PR, and it had felt incredibly easy. I was still intent on a smooth easy race, but there were some rumblings of possibility in the back of my head.

I completed transition, making sure to get sunblock on all of my exposed skin, per my primary objective, and headed out onto the bike course with a smile on my face.

The Bike

Once again, coming off of a very disappointing bike split in Kansas, I promised myself to race by feel instead of trying to crush and blowing up my run. I knew that 18.7 mph was the mark I'd need to FINALLY break 3 hours on the 56 mile bike split, but I also knew that my goal for that day was to hydrate and fuel properly to set myself up for a decent run(aka NOT walking the entire way). I had scouted the bike course on a previous visit and was prepared for the first 10-11 miles being gently uphill. I knew that I'd have a pretty slow average speed for that first stretch of each of the 2 laps, so I settled in and spun an easy gear in my aero bars.

Each lap has a long section of downhill that lasts about 7 miles. It is not steep or twisty, so even a chicken-shit flatlander like myself is free to lay off the brakes and just let it fly. And let it fly I did. After hitting the peak of the climbing on the first lap, my average speed was 15 mph, and by the end of the exhilirating downhill, I was up to 19 mph. The rest of the loop was flat, and my average speed was still around 19 when I began my second loop. Delaware always seems to pass me on the bike leg of any triathlon we do together, and this one was no different: he passed me shortly before the end of my first lap. With him ahead of me and gradually disappearing up the road, I reminded myself of my primary objectives. I could chase him down. I could keep my average this high and break 3 hours on the bike. But I didn't have to. I continued to ride intelligently, focusing on hydration and fuel. I even stopped to pee partway through my 2nd lap. There wasn't much, and it was kind of dark, so I vowed to increase the fluid intake to set myself up for a good run.

Some good memories from my ride...1) THE quintessential hippy dude was passing out peaches that I assumed to be homegrown. I regretted not grabbing one(despite this being strictly forbidden according to USAT rules), because he was not there on the 2nd lap....2) A brief chat with another racer on my first lap. As I passed her, I commented on what a beautiful day it was. She whole-heartedly agreed and mentioned that it was at least 10 degrees cooler than it had been last year. I then mentioned how I had raced in KS earlier this summer, to which she replied, "Ugh, Kansas is such a hard race. All us locals here know to avoid that one." So it turns out that doing Ironman Kansas as my first triathlon was kind of badass....3) Passing a guy who was racing in an old school KU basketball jersey. I gave an emphatic "Rock Chalk Jayhawk!" as I passed him.

I finished the 2nd lap, with my average speed around 18.5, yet I was confident I hadn't torched my legs. I didn't look at my watch as I crossed the timing mat, but I would find out later that I had set a new PR for a 70.3 bike split....3:02:09. Not bad for "taking it easy".

The Run

I transitioned efficiently, making sure to reapply sunblock again, and then I headed out onto the run course, with the temperatures beginning to creep up. I glanced briefly at my overall time, but whatever I saw didn't exactly stick in my short term memory. I knew that less than 4 hours had elapsed since I ran into the reservoir that morning, but I didn't remember exactly how much. At this point, my brain was fully aware that breaking 6 hours was a definite possibility. And beyond that, finishing under 6:05 would result in a PR, which still would have been absolutely thrilling. According to the math I did in my head, based on vague recollections of time splits I was *kinda* sure of, I had to run 13.1 miles in about 2 hours and 10 minutes if I wanted to break 6 hours.

Of course, this was still not my priority. I was still intent on racing happy and comfortable(to whatever extent I could). I would try to keep a good pace, but not at the expense of enjoyment(to whatever extent I could). My first order of business was to find a portapotty. I spent a minute or so waiting my turn, and when I finally got in, I was reassured that my hydration efforts on the bike had been wildly successful.

Hitting the road, I began to lay down what felt like a 9-10 minute pace, and was surprised to be holding it consistently. The 2 loop run course had rolling hills for the first half of each trip around the reservoir, and then flattened out across the dam before completing the circle. I only walked at aid stations, and I took it easy on the hills. I fully took advantage of the ice pockets in my shirt and was thrilled that despite being "the rattly guy" I was keeping quite cool.

The curiosity was eating me alive. I wanted to keep looking at my overall time so I could obsess on a minute-by-minute basis of where I was in relation to 6 hours. I really wanted to, but I promised myself that I'd race by feel until I had 2 miles left. Then I would let myself look at overall time, and if I thought it possible, I could go for it. For now, however, it was simple: Run happy, hydrate and fuel smartly, and carry on.

I saw Delaware on the out-and-back and realized he wasn't too far ahead of me. That gave me another potential bonus prize for this race. In my opinion, Delaware is a total badass, and catching or passing him is always good motivation for me. But not yet. We high-fived as we passed each other, and continued on our respective journeys.

As I passed the halfway mark, I stared longingly at the "Finish This Way" sign. I thought to myself "Soon enough it will be mine" as I chose the "2nd Lap This Way" path. I glanced at my watch. Total run time elapsed was 1:05. That was half of the original 2:10 that I had estimated for breaking 6. I was ON PACE.

The 2nd lap hit me hard. Running by the finish line and hearing all the cheers and excitement and yet not getting to partake in the festivities, it has always brought with it a small hit to my morale. As I settled back in for another loop, I really began to feel the fatigue in my legs. The hills were brutal, and I did allow myself a handful of brief walks. They were under control however. I was CHOOSING to walk, rather than having it forced upon me. I would tell myself "Alright, 20 paces and then we're back at it." and I would stick to the plan. My legs still had some oomph left in them.

Unfortunately, the occasional glance at my average pace told me I was slowing down. I was putting in some 11 minute miles, and I was beginning to get concerned. I knew that I had reached a tipping point. A choice had to be made. How bad did I want 6 hours? If I wanted it at all, something had to change, and it had to change NOW. I increased my pace, only slightly enough to know that I was now running with purpose. And that purpose HURT! I still held to the promise that I wouldn't check my overall time until I had 2 miles left.

I saw Delaware again on the out-and-back. I had gained on him, and he was within reach. He saw me, and I believe he knew exactly what was going on in my head. As we passed each other he yelled, "If you want it, you have to dig deep." He had read my mind, and that was exactly what I needed to hear at that moment in my life. I made the turnaround and got him in my sights. I slowly gained on him and after about a mile, I caught him.

As I came alongside my friend, I realized another thing. I had almost exactly 2 miles left in my race. The moment of truth was at hand. I toggled my watch to show total time. Again reading my mind, Del asked me how much time I had left. My watch told me that 5 hours and 39 minutes had elapsed since my day began. That gave me just around 20 minutes to duke it out with the last 2 miles and achieve the unthinkable on this particular day.

With that, I left Del behind and pushed my body to its limit. My inner monologue was in overdrive, and occasionally became my outer monologue as I spoke out loud to myself, and sometimes yelled, "Come on Danny. You've got this. What one man can do....KILL THE BEAR!"

Oh how those miles hurt. I was gasping for air. I was groaning. I was cursing. I was muttering odd things to myself. I'm sure everyone I passed thought I was a complete loony, but I continued. I shudder to imagine what my running form looked like, but I would bet money that it involved at least some amount of flailing. I was throwing my body in the direction of the finish line, and the clock was ticking. I repeatedly looked at my total race time and kept going back and forth on whether or not I was going to make it. "10 minutes left, I got this!",  "5 minutes left. Shit. I'm not going to make it.", "3 minutes left! Fuck, I can't even do that math in my head.", "2 minutes left...WHERE'S THE GOD DAMN FINISH LINE?!?!".

The end of the run course has a small little hump before a gentle downhill towards the finish area. On this first lap, this hump was barely perceptible. On the second lap, with time ticking away, this was a slap in the face and a kick in the balls. I felt like I was desperately clawing my way up a mountain, with certain death beckoning from below. I crested the top and STILL couldn't see the finish line. I lengthened out my stride and flung myself full-steam towards the sounds that were coming from the finish area. At this point, I was very likely screaming like a banshee at the top of my lungs, though I don't quite remember one way or the other.


"Finish This Way"....oh you are SO my bitch now!

I split off to the right and made the turn into the finisher's chute. Final watch check: 5:59. The thing about this screen on my watch is that it doesn't display seconds. It could be 5:59:01....it could be 5:59:59. I had no choice but to make an all-out sprint to the finish line. Whether I was over or under, I knew that I was 100% stoked with my performance. I pumped my fist and screamed in triumph. Something amazing had just happened. I crossed the finish line, having given absolutely everything.

Final run time: 2:12:36

Final event time:  5:59:40

And I didn't get a sunburn. Complete success.

I wouldn't see my official time until quite awhile later, as I spent what felt like hours stumbling around in a daze. I sat in the lake for a little while. I limped up to the the expo area and stuffed my face with pizza and attempted to rehydrate and replenish all of my essential electrolytes. Once I finally began to feel human again, I walked over to where the results were posted and got my confirmation. I had indeed broken 6 hours...by a mere 20 seconds. I thought of the numerous times during my 2nd lap when I thought I needed to walk. Just for a little while. It'll be ok.

As it turns out, even walking ONE additional time would have been the difference. Still a PR, but to come so close and miss it by so little...I have a feeling that would have bugged me. I'm so glad to have simply DONE it this time and now I can finally cast off my 6 hour demons once and for all.

Additionally, my final run split didn't post to Ironman Live until the following morning, much to the chagrin of my mother and girlfriend. When it finally did post, I discovered that I had accomplished something I believe I've never done in a long triathlon until now...negative splits on the run. This was pretty much icing on the cake. With few exceptions, the majority of my run splits from long triathlons have involved blowing up and crashing at some point. This, while not my fastest, was probably my most graceful run split, and I proved it by running the 2nd half significantly faster than the first half!
So...what did I learn from this whole ordeal? I include the Kansas 70.3 in "this ordeal" because it played largely in the lesson I learned. It's the same lesson I "learned" after blowing up at Wyco last summer. When I sit down and think about why I do all of this stuff, I have several answers. It keeps me in shape. It keeps me inspired. It inspires others. I like the feeling I get when I finish a well-planned and intelligently executed race. I like passing out in bed cuddling my finisher's medal when I get home. I like refusing to remove my race wristband for AT LEAST a week afterwards so I can parade it around work and tell people about the awesome thing I did.

But MOST of all. At the end of the day, I do this because I enjoy the hell out of it. I sometimes pity the Olympic athletes who probably don't have the luxury of the occasional "take it easy" race. For them, their sport and their passion is also their obligation. I will never willingly become a competitive racer. Why?

Because I love racing too much to let my enjoyment depend on how fast I am. I hope I don't ever forget that again.

Thanks for reading. Go forth and kill the bear!

Danny

P.S. .....and I didn't get a sunburn!

IMKS 70.3 2012: Legs Go Boom AKA "Sucks To Your Ass-mar"...

Training
The big secret leading into my first big race of this season...the ace up my sleeve...was that I had a coach. A friend of mine who is getting certified as a triathlon coach(often referred to as CC in this blog) wanted a test subject. A project. A guinea pig. I was happy to offer myself as a trial client for her to get some practice scheduling and analyzing workouts. And boy did she come up with some doozies! Triple bricks, hill repeats, and lots of heart rate based training, which I had absolutely zero experience with.

All of this structured and purposeful training was beginning to make me feel like a total badass, and I was feeling incredibly confident about Ironman Kansas. My initial goal of 5:30 did seem a bit lofty, especially because CC only had about 3 weeks to work with me before raceday. Thinking more realistically, 5:45 seemed well within reach. I had put in a lot of miles on the fancy new bike, I had a solid running base, and I was swimming stronger than ever. Breaking 6 hours seemed a foregone conclusion, and I even told that to many of my friends when asked of my expectations for the race.

At no point did I remind myself that I do all of this because it is fun. That was my first mistake.

Pre-Race 

In short, I did everything like I was supposed to. In contrast to the pre-race disaster from last year, I didn't get a sunburn at the event expo the day before the race, I hydrated well all weekend, I carb-loaded properly, I ate dinner the night before, breakfast the morning of, and I got plenty of sleep. I planned my nutrition according to what I know has worked from experience(or at least as best as I could remember).

Unlike last year, Kansas apparently did not get the memo that I was trying to set a PR and did not behave accordingly. Temps were predicted to be in the 90's, winds were going to be stiff, and the water was too warm for a wetsuit legal swim.

Giddyup.

The Swim

The men's 30-34 L-Z wave was once again scheduled to be dead last, exactly an hour after the pros started, and once again meaning that I'd be out in the Kansas heat an hour later into the day. As I said before, no wetsuits allowed, so I'd expect to be a little slower in the water, but I wasn't worried. I chose to swim without a wetsuit last year and I was ok.

As we lined up and waded into the water, I immediately noticed that I couldn't get a good seal on my left goggle. I kept trying. And trying. And then my race started, and I hadn't yet succeeded in getting it to seal. So I started swimming. And then I stopped because it filled with water after about 10 seconds. I emptied it, tried to reseal it, and then began swimming again. And then I stopped. You can kinda see where this is going...for almost HALF of the 1.2 mile swim, I was able to swim for about 10 seconds at a time before having to stop and "fix" my goggles. It is nearly impossible to describe how infuriating this was without using every swear word in my vocabulary, and I should also mention that it is incredibly difficult to tread water when your arms are otherwise occupied.

Did I mention it was incredibly choppy...possibly worse than last year? It was. But that wasn't even my challenge. A f*cking equipment malfunction from a relatively new pair of goggles that had performed beautifully all season until THIS moment. They finally stopped leaking after I turned back towards shore, but the damage was done. I swam like a bat out of hell and probably passed 50 people on the way back, but I may as well have doggy-paddled the first half. In retrospect, I am thinking that maybe the sunscreen on my face was affecting the seal. Lesson learned, I guess?

(Sidenote: I also got kicked in the face once during the swim. No biggee.)

Final swim time: 46:36  Once again my worst 70.3 swim split, despite my strongest swim fitness ever.

The Bike

Here was my chance to shine. In February I purchased a brand new, fancy-schmancy, tri-specific, carbon-fiber, beautiful and elegant Isabella. The Trek Speed Concept 7.0 in all her glory. Not only that, but I had put in nearly 600 miles on her, most of which was in the last few months. I felt like a beast on the bike. I was averaging 19-20 mph on my training rides. I absolutely KNEW that I would break 3 hours on my bike split. The only real question was By How Much?

Based on my newly acquired heart rate zone knowledge, I was planning on trying to stay in zone 2-3 to help keep myself from overexerting, or "spending too many pennies" on the bike. After transition, which was within my time budget at around 5 minutes, I got cranking on the bike. Upon my first glance at my Garmin, I was in Zone 6. That's "All Out Sprint" effort. Not sure why my heart rate was so freakishly high so soon, but I immediately tried to calm myself down and get some steady spinning going. It worked...kinda. I was able to get back down into a more reasonable zone, but then I remembered, "Oh yeah, this course is really really hilly". I decided that I'd have to deal with occasional heart rate spikes with the hills. And then there was the wind.

The wind was incredibly stiff and consistent, coming out of the south. The bike course headed straight south for the majority of the first half of the 56 miles. At this point there was really no "conserve" option. All I had available was a "survive" option. On many portions of the course, there really was no "easy" pace that also involved the bike moving forward. I tried to maintain a semi-decent pace and hoped that once I caught the tailwind my average speed would increase enough to get close to 3 hours. It didn't.

I finished my bike split in 3:05:04. Yes, that is my fastest 70.3 bike split ever. By less than a minute. During my first triathlon...here 3 years ago...on a 10 year old entry level road bike...I rode a 3:06. Given everything I've told you about my training, the new bike, and my supposed "experience" as a triathlete, you can begin you grasp how disappointing this was.

And of course, the knowledge that I had most likely completely blown up my legs to do it. That wasn't reassuring.

The "Run"

 I had a decent transition. Could've been faster, could've fumbled around less, but I got in and out in about 2 minutes. I checked my total time as I exited transition and my watch read 3:59. An entire minute faster than this point last year. Absolutely thrilling to have put in so much time to gain myself a pitiful 60 seconds. The demons in my head were having a field day and my confidence and spirit were more or less nonexistent.

Not that it mattered.

The plan was to start my run at a 9:00 min/mile pace, and then gradually speed up as the legs loosened up and my running gears got warm. Seeing as how I couldn't even START that fast, you can see how a plan like that would fall apart fairly quickly. With much effort, I was able to hold a 9:30 pace for a couple miles, but when it became apparent that my legs were not capable of continuing that for any longer, everything shut down. I walked.

It was clear to me that I was in for a miserable few hours. And I had defeated myself mentally when I was on the bike and I was certain that this would happen. Would it have made a difference if I were blissfully unaware that I was riding too hard? I guess I'll never know.

All of my goals went out the window fairly rapidly as my average pace fell and fell. 5:45...gone. 6:00....yeah....gone. PR? Nope. At a certain point I briefly cared about not finishing with my slowest time ever. Only briefly though. The only thing I wanted was to be done. I thought about quitting, but not seriously. Apparently the only reasonable option for me to be done was by crossing the finish line.

The next few hours consisted of me alternating between walking and "running", which I put in quotations because it probably wasn't much faster than my walking pace. I was not happy. I was not enjoying myself. I was not having fun. The only high points were passing Delaware's campsite where several people whom I care about deeply were hanging out to cheer for me, and the few aid stations where some good friends were volunteering. Erin, a friend from Lawrence, was at one of them and made several desperate attempts to cheer me up. As little as I showed it, I did appreciate the effort. Several Mudbabes and Trail Nerds were staffing another aid station, including Megan M and Indika M. On my second loop Indi even walked with me for awhile, which really meant a lot.

Of all the wonderful people who were there to support me, the VIP award goes to Allison. And once I get into what happened after my race, you'll see why. She agreed to give up her Sunday to come watch me race, and even snapped some pretty awesome photographs before it became apparent that my race was becoming a nightmare(appropriately enough, her last picture was of me leaving T2). Once the sufferfest began, every time I passed the campsite, she was there asking me how I was feeling and what I needed. Unfortunately, I was way too out of it to even know what had gone wrong, and what I needed to make it better.

So it went, I trudged through 13.1 miles in 2:47:39. My slowest half marathon ever, including my half splits from the full Ironman. At the end, I was able to muster a solid run down the finishing chute. I found Allison and gave her a sweaty kiss before I finished, and then with a little pep in my step I did some sort of goofy jump/kick/splits across the finish line(still awaiting event photos to see how this one turned out).

Final time: 6:46:43 My slowest half Ironman by almost 25 minutes.

The Med Tent

Allison was waiting for me after I got my finisher's medal and photo op. I don't know what I looked like, but it couldn't have been good. On my last loop she had asked me what I needed at the finish line. I'm fairly certain I gave her no useful information, but she suggested some gatorade and some food and I suppose that sounded reasonable. Had I even been remotely aware of what was going on I would have also suggested she grab my inhaler from my backpack. I didn't remember the point on my last loop where I was doubled over wheezing and having a coughing fit. If I had remembered any of that, I might have had better suggestions for her.

But as it stood, she was standing there with some gatorade and immediately found some chairs in a tent where we could sit and I could cool down. I remember surprisingly little of this, but I do remember at one point I rested my head in her lap and began quietly sobbing for some reason unknown to myself. Then a gentleman in a yellow shirt came up with a "Hey buddy, are you ok?" The ensuing conversation ended with a recommendation that I visit the med tent, which I am OH so familiar with. Of the 4 half-iron distance races I have completed, this now makes 3 visits to the med tent. And also 3 times this race has left me in tears.

I found a seat in the med tent and the first gentleman to see me recommended that I go ahead and lie down flat. The part of my brain that holds all of my nursing expertise was unfortunately not able to make decisions...but it knew that lying down flat was a bad idea for somebody who was in borderline respiratory distress. But that part kept silent for the time being. Within seconds of doing as the medical volunteer instructed, it started. I coughed once...and then again...and the irritation in my airways got worse and worse with each cough. Everything was tightening up really quickly. The guy immediately realized his mistake, apologized, and directed me to sit back up...but it was too late.

During football practice in 8th grade, I had an asthma attack and was subsequently diagnosed with exercise induced asthma. Since then, this condition has never been more than an annoyance. Occasional tightness in the chest following a hard workout on cold days. Nothing more.

Until this moment.

As my coughing became uncontrollable, I noticed that my inhalations were becoming more and more labored...more desperate. I came to the not-so-calm realization that I was fucking suffocating. This set off alarms in my brain and my attempts to breath became even more desperate and pitiful. My eyes began to water and I sobbed ever so slightly between ineffectual gasps for air. This occurred over the course of about 10 seconds, at which point the volunteer asked if I had asthma...I was able to kind of choke out "exercise induced" but because I was unable to breath, I wasn't really able to fully explain how "mild" my condition was.. There's some irony in there somewhere, I think.

Allison held my hand the entire time and was able to kind of translate for me that albuterol would help, and they set me up with a nebulizer treatment and an shot of benadryl into my deltoid. My breathing slowed gradually, and my airways opened back up.

With the asthma attack rapidly resolving, I began to take stock of the rest of me. I was still mostly out of it, but knew that I must be dehydrated based on my knowledge that I hadn't peed since I finished swimming, and that I had stopped sweating at some point during the run. I knew my electrolytes were out of whack as well because both of my hands were tingling and to my horror began to slowly cramp up, contorting themselves into a grotesque position, giving the appearance of rheumatoid arthritis. They were so tense that the volunteer couldn't even get an accurate blood pressure. Allison was prying one hand open while the volunteer worked on the other. Once those subsided, Allison began hand feeding me pretzels and holding the gatorade bottle to my lips because I was too weak to hold it myself. I'm fairly certain I have never felt so helpless, and at the same time I was reminded how grateful I am to have somebody like her in my life.

At some point, I got enough fluids and salt that I woke up from my delerium. I'm not sure what I did...I might have made a stupid joke, or maybe it was that bizarre techno remix of "Jump In The Line" that caught my attention and caused me to start air drumming or something...but Allison immediately noticed the improvement in my level of consciousness and said "Hey, you're back!"

I was able to figure out a plan to get my car moved, because I was in no condition to drive, and Allison drove me home and got me fed and into bed.

 The Aftermath

Besides a sunburn and disappointment, it's hard to know what to take away from this. Everyone insists to me that the conditions were just THAT bad and there was nothing to do about it. I feel like there is more to it, and that there is something I did wrong that caused this whole trainwreck. I know for certain that I need more fluid on the bike. I am looking into adjusting my hourly electrolyte intake. CC tells me that I need MORE work on the bike, and a DailyMile friend reminded me of the biggest most important detail that I completely forgot. The reason I do any of this ridiculousness. It's supposed to be fun. I'm not such a hardcore athlete that I need to race for any other reason. Setting a new PR doesn't matter. Beating my brother's time doesn't matter. None of it matters unless I'm actually enjoying what I do. I suspect one of the reasons my first full Ironman was such a success is because I had a blast every single minute of it. I need to get that back in a BIG way, otherwise I suspect Ironman Florida will be a day worth forgetting.

I want to thank Del, Jess, Alan, Erin, Megan, Indi, and everyone else who cheered for me on Sunday. Your presence and spirit helped me through an incredibly difficult day. I also want to thank everyone on Facebook who helped pump me up for this race, congratulated me on finishing, and expressed sympathy and concern over how my day ended. And lastly, there really aren't any words for Allison that I haven't already told her a hundred times.

Thank you all for reading, and for your incredible support!

Bonus pictures

Rough swim, but happy to see my gal!

Chatting with Delaware in transition.

Heading off down the road.

Running off into oblivion.

Belated Training Update...AKA "A Blogger's Remorse"

I have to admit that I'm only a casual blogoteer, and knowing many others like me who only post every now and then, I realize that we cannot live up to the standard set by the daily/weekly folks out there. I'm no writer, so I have to WAIT for good stuff to come rather than coming up with it on a scheduled basis.

With that said, I really ought to just make a template for the first paragraph of any new post.

<Hey I know I haven't posted in a long time, but I've been really busy/depressed/without internet/etc and haven't gotten around to writing. Sorry! > There, that should cover all our bases.

Checking something off of my Bucket List.

It looks as if I haven't posted anything of substance regarding training since ...December. Well, some things have happened since then. Things I probably should have written about right after they happened. Like the week I spent in Puerto Rico doing awesome things with awesome people (yoga, acroyoga, surfing, slacklining, rock climbing, living Pura Vida, etc). Luckily, Adi, the retreat organizer, wrote a blog about that week so I didn't have to. That's me at the top doing a headstand on the beach. So that was awesome.

I have mentioned this before, but I am now working as a nurse at St. Luke's in Kansas City and really really starting to love it. This was not always the case. In February, I had a meeting with my supervisors and orientation coordinators in the Medical ICU and was told I simply was not ready to work on my own in that setting. They recommended I interview on another unit, a stroke recovery/neuroscience unit. This was a very tough pill to swallow and I kind of sank into a bit of a funk as a result. I tried to compensate by focusing my energies on training for a new half marathon PR, but I ended up catching a cold to end all colds and was more or less out of commission for about a month. This is an excuse, I realize. I COULD have trained through that cold, but I chose not to. If I didn't have a fledgling career and a professional reputation that I was working on building from scratch, I would have just said "To hell with it" and gotten in my miles. But I am concerned about being "that guy" who always calls in sick(and I had to a few times). For once, I have to give priority to this new-fangled "job" thingy.

So anyways...my original goal for Rock the Parkway was 1:35...and then it was "beat my brother's time"(1:33 something?). Well, when race day rolled around my goal was "try and hang with the 1:40 pace group, and if I feel good at mile 10, try for a PR". I didn't hang with the pace group and ended up with my 3rd fastest half marathon(1:41:45). Not disappointed though. I think I ran well considering my circumstances and choices.

Deep in the Pain Cave at Rock the Parkway

Coming up on the Land's End aid station

The following week was the Free State Trail Runs, the same series where I did my first 40 miler a year ago. I signed up at the last minute(race-day morning) for the half marathon. I nearly got a sub-2 hour trail half marathon at Perry last fall, and I wanted a shot at redemption. Well, long story short, I got it...but I didn't get it.

Let me explain... I ran well. I ran REALLY freaking well(~8:30 pace on technical trails). I got good separation from the pack before we hit the singletrack, and I entered the woods in 6th place. Only 2 people passed me the entire race. So when I crossed the finish line and my watch said 1:35, I thought "Wait a minute...that probably wasn't a full 13.1 miles". I inquired with the race director and he admitted that the course was on the short side. Based on my perceived effort and pace, I'd guess it was around 11 miles. Still, if I had held my pace for 2 more miles, I still would have finished under 2 hours.

As of last week, though, I am now officially in Tri Mode until November. I swam on Thursday, and I had my first official brick of the season today. One hour on the trainer, followed by a 4 mile run at 70.3 race pace(8:00/mile). Legs felt really good, and I feel like I'm basically injury-free heading into this racing season, which is a definite bonus!

I'm excited for my upcoming races, but I'm also pleased to hear about friends doing cool things. At some point last year, Rachael, a girl from my hometown, asked me for advice about training for a half marathon. I gave her an earful and answered her questions along the way. She finished her race, and then I asked when she'd be doing a full marathon. Well, a few weeks ago, she did exactly that. Her first full marathon...something she was completely skeptical of when I first suggested it. Another runner friend, Indika, trained for and completed her first 40 miler last weekend. A fellow Fun Police friend, Megan M, completed her very first half marathon at Rock the Parkway, and then ran the Free State "half marathon" as well the following weekend. Congratulations to all of them!

And yesterday, I did this: 

"I love it when a plan comes together!"

Until next time...Kill the Bear, my friends!

New Year's post

My annual New Year's rant contains some athletic stuff, but mostly personal life stuff, so it exists over on my "normal folks blog". You can read it here.

Happy New Year, everyone! I always liked this commercial...even more so since I became a runner!

Lately, The Road To 12 Hours, and What's Next?

So yes, it's been quite a while since I wrote anything. When I last checked in here, I was slowly coming out of a bit of an athletic funk involving a lack of both motivation and physical health. Some nagging injuries and a VERY bad race left me kinda directionless athletically. I had been planning to do my first 50 mile ultra this fall, and that definitely was never even close to being a healthy option for me.

Fall Fell 2011...loving the water crossing!

So I hit reset. And boy am I glad I did.

My 30 day yoga binge set me in the right direction. Doing "Kill The Bear" workouts with my roommates got me motivated, added strength and speed, and gave me that fire, that spark, that THING I'd been missing for several months. I was ready to crush again.

I certainly didn't rush back into running...to be sure, my mileage has been WAY down compared to this time last year(but last year was a whole different situation). I basically ran when it was convenient to me, and I only ran at a level that was comfortable. And my "comfortable" level began to be faster. And faster. To be honest, right now I'm about as fast as I've ever been in my life, as evidenced by getting 4th overall in my first trail half marathon, and running quite respectably in some other smaller races. I probably could have written about that race, but there really wasn't much to tell. I was shooting for 2 hours flat, came up a bit short, and made a funny face when the race director told me "Congrats, 4th place." It was a tough-ass course too.

Anyways, blah blah blah...been running fast and having NO pain whatsoever.

The BIG news...in Novemeber, during the 15 minute window before it filled up, I was able to secure a spot in Ironman Florida 2012! And not only that, but BOTH of my roommates, two of my best friends, another good training pal, and a KTB workout buddy also signed up for this race. In addition,  my brother is still toying with shelling out the dough for one of the Ironman Foundation slots which cost double(Come on....doooooo it!) Regardless, I couldn't be happier about the fact that several people I know will become an Ironman next November.

The other BIG news is that this time, I'm going balls out. For my first Ironman, my goal was to finish. And I did that with quite a respectable 13:29. Thinking about my next one, I knew I was going to want to improve on that time...but how much? 13:00 seemed reasonable, but when Delaware threw out 12 hours, I called him crazy and then decided that was the magic number.

12 hour Ironman...what will THAT entail? Well...seeing as how I have yet to manage a sub-6 hour HALF Ironman, it would seem that perhaps this isn't quite a reasonable goal...

...but when has THAT ever stopped me before? To hell with REASON...here's what it will take.

1:10 swim...totally doable, gain a little speed in the water and I'm there.
6 hour bike(18.6 mph average) - The Crux...but with a pancake flat course and hopefully an assload of bike training(and maybe even a proper tri bike)...it's doable.
4:30 marathon... totally doable, considering I breezed to a sub-5 marathon in Coeur d'Alene, which is hilly.
Throw in transitions no longer than 10 minutes apiece, and holy shit...why does that seem like no big deal?

Well, now that I'm out of school and working full time at my first nursing job, I believe I'll have the time necessary to get in that training I'll need to crush this race. And you'll hear about all of it right here, so stay tuned(or subscribed...since this isn't a television or radio station).

Some other goals I hope to achieve in the near future:
Run a sub-6 minute mile
New Half Marathon PR...thinking 1:35 to keep my bro off my back for a bit...his PR is 1:40.
MAYBE a new marathon PR...3:50 would reclaim the "Fastest Loental Marathon" title from my brother as well, but I think I could go 3:45...."Hear that, fucker? I've got your number!"

Oh yeah...and I suppose a sub-6 hour Half Ironman would seem appropriate...5:30 would be more reassuring though.

Not much else to say right now, however I would like to recognize an amazing friend's achievement. In May of 2010, I did a weekend bike ride called the Cottonwood 200. It was a beautiful ride through the Flinthills of Kansas, and I definitely needed the mileage heading into my first Ironman, but more important than that, I met a very amazing friend that weekend. Initially our friendship entailed sharing training and racing stories, and we even rode together a few times, but she now lives in Oklahoma and we occasionally chat when she's not too busy being Super Mom. Well anyways...last month she raced her first ever Ironman in Arizona. In front of her family and friends, she finished in an absolutely blazing 12:28. This is my blog shoutout to my amazing friend CC...I am so proud of you, and congratulations! You deserve it!

Because I haven't written about training in a while...

When I last checked in here, I was injured and lacking motivation. It's hard to definitively say that my situation has improved, but it is definitely different. With the exception of Warrior Dash, which was a total cluster on the part of the race planners(people died), I hadn't done any kind of race until yesterday. I'll tell you a little about that in a second.

Basically, after Wyco, I decided to rest and heal my body. I attempted to do this by taking on a yoga challenge. I succeeded in doing yoga every day for 30 straight days. It helped to calm my mind during a very uncertain time in my life. I was finishing up nursing school(yay!) and preparing to enter the real world, though this "real world" thing still hasn't technically happened as I'm still searching for employment as a nurse. If nothing else, I definitely increased my flexibility in a bunch of very very good ways, and strengthened the crap out of my core and hips. These are good things for anyone, especially somebody who wishes to consider themselves an athlete.

I also moved in with one of my best friends, one of the small group of people who can always keep me motivated and dreaming big. We devised a plan to keep us in shape and gnarly during our time living together. A weekly workout, consisting of any number of manly all-around exercises. Big tractor tires? Heavy ropes? Crossfit? Hill sprints? Ridiculous made-up exercises involving full-body complex movements? Hell yes.

So this is what I've been doing for the past few weeks, and though I don't necessarily notice a difference in my own appearance, others have claimed they see a difference. I am noticing an overall improvement in strength however.

So....the bad. I fucked up my back moving a keg at work. It's been a few weeks and it's not quite back to normal. I am still having random ankle/achilles/shin pain, so I'm not quite ready to dive back into running, which is kinda sad because I finally have all the free time in the world, and all I really want to do is just tear up some trails for a few hours every day.

I told myself I'd focus more on cycling while I was resting my running gears, but that never happened. I've MAYBE ridden 5 times in the last 2 months. I'm riding 180 miles this weekend. Could be interesting.

Anyways, blah blah blah...did a small triathlon yesterday. It was a charming grassroots effort for a group called SWAT(Supporting Weatherby's Adopted Troops) that sends care packages to their friends and family who are deployed overseas. It was also a solemn occasion commemorating one of their soldiers killed in action recently, Jeremy Katzenberger. He left behind a wife and a newborn. His father was on-hand before the race to thank us all for coming. He was also at the finish line handing out participation ribbons and thanking us individually "for racing and for honoring his son". There was not a single thing I disliked about this race. Weatherby Lake and the surrounding neighborhood is absolutely beautiful and the type of place I would love to retire to. The race cost $35 to enter and was delightfully bare bones compared to an Ironman event. As we arrived we were informed to "park where you can" and that transition was "find a good tree near the swim exit over here". There were no bibs, only body marking. The race director gave a quick explanation of the course before hopping in the water to race the long course with the rest of us.

As for how I did...not bad. I hadn't swam in months, so I went ahead and wore the wetsuit to give myself a little help. Arms got tired quickly and I was slow, but I never struggled. Good to know my stroke is still pretty solid. The water was refreshingly cool and clear. This event was not timed, so we relied on our own devices to keep track. I finished 1200 yards in around 20 minutes. I hopped on the bike and rode a very hilly 11 mile course in 38 minutes and change. I then hit the 3.1 mile run course, also very hilly and getting pretty hot by this point in the day, and finished the race after a ~25 minute 5k. Total time was just around 90 minutes. I felt good the whole day with a few aches here and there, but definitely felt like things were getting back to normal in my body and in my mind. It was a good day, and as I told a fellow racer who had tipped me off about this hidden treasure of a race, "I'd rather spend the 10 year anniversary of 9/11 doing something that makes me feel alive and appreciate what I have rather than sitting on my ass and getting bombarded by overly sentimental retrospectives from all the major news networks." She agreed.

Anyways...figured I'd check in and let my 5 readers know I'm still alive and still trying to kill the bear, just in different ways lately.

Congratulations to my high school friend Jeff Schmidt and KC friend Dustin Johnson for succeeding at their respective Ironman races. I'm so proud to know such inspiring and inspired people.

Psycho WyCo 20 miler: Losing My Mojo

Sigh...I've been putting this off for a while. A large part of me wants to forget that this day ever happened, but I know deep down that this race was significant for me as an athlete. I know there are some solid truths to be unearthed from my 5 1/2 hour slog through hell last weekend. I began writing these blogs mainly to tell stories, and to have a good solid memory of the events I've done, and minimally to entertain/inspire if possible. I have found another incredible effect of rethinking and retelling my races...I tend to learn a lot about myself and about racing in the process. I'm really hoping that over the course of what I'm about to write, I figure some things out, because this race really bothered me in a bunch of ways and I have no idea why. This may not be enjoyable in any way, so I apologize in advance. See you on the other side, brave readers.

Thanks to Matty Mullins for the poster!

So...where to begin. My brother has been getting more and more into running and racing, and when he informed me that he had signed up for the 20 mile race for Psycho Psummer, I was thrilled! I knew it would be a great chance for us to finally race each other. I've been racing for a few years longer than him, but we're both still relatively new to it all. I was excited for him to see some of "my turf" so to speak, and to see how "flat Kansas" compares to the trails he runs out in California. I was so excited for this race that I even convinced a buddy of mine to design some promotional posters to hype up the Brother v Brother match and to get the competitive juices flowing between us.

Originally, I felt I was the better athlete and that I'd smoke him. Then I began seeing some of his recent race results. He was training consistently("What's that?", I said.) He was getting faster. In his 2nd half marathon, he almost beat my PR without TRYING. More and more of these results convinced me that it might perhaps be a closer race than I thought. I kept going back and forth between thinking that I'd destroy him, he'd destroy me, or it'd be an exceptionally good race and the finish would see us sprinting it out for honor, glory, and Favorite Son status with my mother. I began to weigh the variables that would decide this contest For The Ages. His advantages were his consistent training and the fact that he is probably naturally faster than me. My advantages were that I was familiar with the course and accustomed to the heat and humidity of Kansas in July. And honestly, the home court advantage was, in my mind, my ace in the hole...because nobody is ever prepared for Wyco their first time.

Time passed and the race approached. Being in nursing school, as usual, limited my running to once or twice a week. My half ironman went particularly well and I felt pretty confident in my fitness, so I didn't attempt to push mileage in the 3 weeks between that race and Wyco. I ran modestly and rested to try and get some of my nagging aches and pains to subside before raceday. This was mostly unsuccessful, as I was still somewhat gimpy in my right ankle when that day came.

Loental v Loental for great justice!

My brother arrived in town and my parents decided at the last minute to come up and watch us race. This was very cool of them, as they cancelled a trip to see friends and attend a wedding to do so. Or maybe they were just too lazy to do a bunch of driving. Or maybe they really do love us. Who knows? Anyways, the day finally came and there we were, lined up and ready to run off into the forest at Wyandotte Country Park.

In contrast to my last race where I had done absolutely everything wrong the day before(got sunburn, didn't eat dinner, didn't get enough sleep, didn't eat breakfast, etc), for this race I had done everything right. I ate wonderfully the day before, I drank plenty of water and was ridiculously hydrated, and I got plenty of sleep the night before. I even planned my raceday nutrition. I was quite certain that I would not bonk this time, especially since I was ONLY doing 20 miles.  

I had no particular strategy for this race, but I had a rough time goal of 2 hour splits for each 10 mile lap. As far as my plan for beating my brother, I figured that I would just run my race and hope that he either would be unable to match my pace, or would go out too fast too early and blow up, allowing me to pass him before the end and steal all the glory for myself.

Sometimes, a plan is just a funny list of things that ain't gonna happen.

Ben's typical pre-race speech went as expected and as the clock struck 8:00 am, Ben sounded the horn and we ran off into oblivion. It was hot for sure, but not any hotter than I remember it being the previous year. I picked a pace that felt modest, but bordered on aggressive. I wasn't overly winded to begin, but I was definitely working. I wanted to see what kind of legs my brother had. For a couple miles I ran and he matched my pace stride for stride(although he did almost lose a shoe in the place where I warned him he might lose a shoe). We got through the ridiculously muddy sections and were still cooking along. After a few miles, he made a pass and I responded and matched his pace for a short while. I felt uncomfortable with him in the lead and wanted to give his legs another test, so I gave a slight acceleration, passed him, and waited to see if he came along. He did. Shortly after that, he passed me again, this time on a hill. I let this move go, but I kept him in my sights. I chuckled to myself that he had no idea what was in store for him and that he would likely regret going out this hard so early. I kept him in my sights for a while, but eventually lost contact.

I would not see him for another 5 hours. What follows is the real story.

Wouldn't even look at the cameraman

The race was effectively over. I didn't know it exactly then, but within a few miles I was pretty certain he would beat me. Shortly after he dropped me, I stopped to pee. When I started again, I immediately became aware of how sluggish my legs felt. How little energy I had. How much I really, in all truth, just didn't want to be running at that moment. I was still keeping a decent pace, but I didn't feel good. I was only a few miles in and my running form was already sagging. I was walking small hills that I should have been running. Then I was walking slight inclines. Then I was walking imaginary inclines(otherwise known as flat terrain). I kept wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Why wasn't I able to pick up my damn feet? I passed the 2nd aid station, which claimed to be mile marker 5.5 and my watch read just over an hour. I breathed a sigh of relief that maybe everything I was feeling was all in my head, because I was still technically on-pace for 2 hour splits. My spirits lifted temporarily and I absolutely stormed back onto the trail and blazed down Fall Down Hill. I then hit the dam. This is maybe a quarter mile across a grassy field with no protection from the sun whatsoever. It felt like I was walking through hell. If I could just get back into the damn shade, I'd be ok. Then the nasty hike up the hill, still in the sun, across the road and YES, back onto the trail and in the shade. I felt like my race might be salvaged and started to at least pretend to believe that I was finding a rhythm. These few miles after the dam were the only truly enjoyable portions of my race, with one exception, but I'll get to that later.

My footwork was getting really sloppy and my ankles felt really wobbly and unstable. I was beginning to have to walk the downhills as well because I was pretty sure that I'd roll an ankle or break something if I kept running them. My bad ankle was also really beginning to make itself known, and my already sagging running form developed a slight limp. I arrived at the enormous hills that come in the last mile or so before you finish the 10 mile lap. As usual they were steep, rocky, and incredibly muddy. In the midst of this, I began to get passed by the really fast 10 milers, but I also started really taking stock of how I felt. I was barely running at all and felt dizzy and drunk. This felt all too familiar, especially given the location. Five months ago, I stumbled through the end of my 50k in this exact place and felt this exact way. The only differences being that today was much hotter, there was no snow, and this was mile 10 as opposed to mile 31. This was when I knew beyond a doubt that the rest of my day was going to suck.

1st lap done...not happy.

I struggled through the final hills of the 1st lap and trudged into the main aid station at roughly 2 hours, 15 minutes. My parents greeted me and informed me that I was about 15 minutes behind my brother. At that point they asked if I was ok and I simply told them, "I don't feel good." I didn't really feel much like talking about it, so I went about the business of grabbing snacks, refilling my bottle, and slamming an S-cap. I thought about quitting. I wanted to be done. I wasn't having fun.

But I've never quit a race before...why would I start now? Running isn't always supposed to be enjoyable is it? Aren't there times when we're supposed to grit our teeth and tough it out? I've always prided myself on my stubborn "finish at whatever cost" attitude and always endured through the pain and suffering. Why do I want to quit now? Does this race actually mean anything to me?

Hmmm....

I began the 2nd lap with these thoughts on my mind. The telling of The Race is more or less over. I am quite certain that I walked more than 80% of the 2nd lap. The physical struggle was mostly over for the day, and I settled in for 3+ hours of mental torture as I examined, discarded, and re-examined everything I know about myself, why I run, why I race, and why I supposedly love running and racing.

I momentarily wondered if I was really just sore over the fact that I was getting trounced by my brother, but I knew that wasn't true because I have been nothing but 100% stoked over the fact that he has become a badass athlete. The fact that he was up the trail somewhere kicking ass was one of the only things that made me smile all day. The other thing that made me smile was getting to the really muddy sections on the 2nd lap. I approached the bogs, saw other racers gingerly and carefully stepping around them, and somebody in my brain said "Aw, f*ck it" as I charged straight through the middle...the deepest, stickiest, nastiest part...making a point to splatter as much mud as possible onto myself. My legs plunged calf deep in some places and I stomped and stomped and stomped as I hooted and hollered. For the next 10 minutes I was happy, and then the disappointment and conflicting thoughts regained their foothold in my mind.

Over the next 3 hours, I contemplated why the hell everything had gone so wrong today. I walked. And I walked. And I kept walking. There was no inner pep talk, no voice of courage urging me to pick up the pace, no "Kill the bear, Daniel!". In fact, I was completely content to simply trudge along in misery without a single motivating thought. This was perhaps the most I have ever despised running in my athletic career. I watched as slower runners than myself passed me. And then slower ones. And a couple hikers even passed me while I was sitting on a log. I felt embarrassed to even be wearing a race bib. Some of my Mudbabe friends passed and asked me if I was ok, and I informed them that I wasn't, but assured them I'd be fine. They're all such great people, and I felt guilty being so short with them when they were simply trying to look out for me.

My ankle really started to get pissy over the course of the 2nd lap. My slight limp was now quite pronounced and even WALKING the technical sections was becoming increasingly difficult. I stumbled often. My legs nearly buckled on more than a dozen occasions. I looked at my watch occasionally and tried to project how long I'd have to suffer through this humiliation of hiking it in to the finish line. If I had been able to move any faster, my only motivation would have been the fact that my parents would be more and more worried about me with each passing minute, and I didn't want them to have to stand out there in the sweltering heat for too long. At this point, I felt like a burden. My brother had likely finished an hour ago, and I was out here pathetically trying to prove something to myself. (My brother did have an amazing finish time of 4:12...go Chris!)

Well, the miles passed slower than molasses and I stumbled and struggled through the final hills. I knew I'd be able to run the last stretch to the finish line, but I really didn't want to. I didn't even want to be seen. I wanted to walk across the finish line unnoticed...I didn't want a finisher's medal. I just wanted to let my parents know I was alive and go home.

I finally saw the finish line, and rather than give the impression I had been running, I walked...just as I had been doing for the majority of the previous 5 1/2 hours. I walked towards the finish line and across it. Ben was the first to see me. He saw my face. And he instantly knew. He has been running for much much longer than I, and if anybody else there would understand, it was him. No explanation was needed, because I'm sure he's been there countless times. He offered a simple consolation and handed me a medal without another word.

A bad race. I knew they happened. This was my first. Sometimes you can do all the planning, training, and preparing in the world, and there's still nothing more you can do to prevent it. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was a matter of motivation. Maybe I was burned out on running Maybe this race didn't really mean anything to me aside from the novelty of hosting and racing my brother. Once the race was a done deal, what was left besides my tired body aimlessly trudging through the mud?

In those 5+ hours of solitude I considered many things. Just like a year ago, my body needed a break. Maybe my mind needed a break from running. Maybe I needed to really figure out what I wanted to achieve as an athlete and set my heart and soul to that purpose like I had done with the Ironman. I have run once since that day, and I am no closer to having answers...all I know is that the 4.5 miles I did yesterday at Shawnee Mission Park were just as miserable as the 20 I did at Wyco. I need to let my ankle heal and this god-awful heat needs to calm the f*ck down. I'm not sure how I feel about my original plan to do a 50 miler this fall. I'm not really sure what I want to do with myself for the rest of the year. I know I need to get back to riding my bicycle and training/fundraising for the MS Ride in September, but aside from that I'm clueless.

That's it. I'm done writing and I haven't really figured much out. If you read this whole mess, I can only hope you didn't have other important things you should have been doing. I may be currently experiencing a complete lack of motivation, but that will not stop me from giving props to several of my friends who are training and racing. Ellie and David are two friends of mine who have, within the last week, completed their first triathlons. Dustin, another friend of mine, is doing his first full Ironman next month. To them, as always, I say this....Kill The Bear.