Last weekend I had a chance to experience one of my favorite things in life. Most that know me, know that I am an adrenaline junkie. Anything that gets the heart pumping and blood flowing, I would probably try it w/out much hesitation. Most of the injuries I've sustained in life have been the result of pushing the limits just a bit too hard, typically involving wheels of some sort. However, there are some injuries and accidents that you won't recover from. Plummeting to the ground from 3,500 feet is one of them. Regardless, when one of my buddies approached me and asked if I wanted to go skydiving for his birthday, I gave an exclamatory, "YES!" w/out thought or hesitation.
I've had the great pleasure of skydiving once before, for my birthday ironically, five years ago. I sat through the class and had the most incredible first jump. I was so invigorated, that I decided to jump again that day and thereafter experienced my first malfunction. It was line-twist, a very common and easily fixable problem, but still helped me become a more educated skydiver. This education proved invaluable for our experience that is still surprisingly vivid in my mind today.
After staying out late the night before celebrating, I woke up in a panic on Buscher and Yigas' couch, just 15 minutes before we were supposed to start class at 8:00 in the morning. Mind you, Butler, MO is over an hour away. So, we gather everyone up, make a few quick phone calls to plead our way into the class, and arrive an hour and a half late. We sit through the remainder of the class and make up our missed curriculum over the lunch break. After hours of training and contingency planning, we are finally given the green light to suit up for our jump. I stepped into the leg harnesses and slid the heavy pack up my legs to rest on my back. I strapped everything down as tight as I comfortably could and checked my altimeter. I slipped my helmet on, took a few last photos and reassured my buddies as we made our way down the runway to board the perfectly functional cessna we were about to jump out of.
As we had practiced, Yigas climbed in first and crawled to the back of the plane to buckle in. I followed behind and took my position just behind the pilot. Buscher was the last to board and buckled in next to the door that we were about to jump out of. The pilot taxied our plane down the runway, we took a sharp left and immediately accelerated to take off. The point where I can no longer tell how fast I'm going is such a rush for me! We slowly climbed to 3500 feet as we circled the tiny Butler airport. Our jump master finally signaled that he was opening the door and he slammed it open into the rushing air. The fuselage of the airplane filled with swirling wind and the roar of the engine became brutally apparent. My mind wouldn't let go of the comment one of the other jump masters made earlier in the day... that he knew what a dead skydiver looked like. I knew everything would be just fine, as it was the prior two times I had jumped, but he certainly caught my attention w/ that comment.
Buscher was the first to jump. He carefully situated himself just inside the open door and very purposely grabbed for the wing support he was to hang from before his decent back to earth. Instead of firmly gripping the support with both hands, he wrapped his left arm around the support in a kind of bear hug that made it impossible to inch any further towards the end of the wing. To our intructor's surprise, Buscher simply jumped off the platform and twisted around before his chute deployed. The instructor's humored and relaxed reaction helped settle my nervous. Now it was my turn...
I inched to the edge of the fueselage and firmly grabbed hold of the support. I pulled my body out into the rushing wind and the incredible roar of the propellor ripping through the air drowned out everything, including my own thoughts and the countless hours of training I had been through. I inched my way towards the end of the support, looked back at the instructor and got the go-ahead to jump. This was it!
I released my white-knuckled grip and immediately threw my arms up and arched my back. It was a near textbook release and my devilish grin showed I knew it. I sailed through the air and my chute eventually caught air, ripping my body upright again. The paper-thin nylon above my head was the only thing keeping me from plummeting to the ground and I was comforted to see everything was in working order. I immediately grabbed hold of my right toggle and yanked down as hard and far as I could and just held it. The chute responded, sending me spiraling down towards the ground. I was spinning at such a high speed, the centripetal force pushed my body so far to the side that I was looking straight into the ground and the line from the chute to my body was nearly parallel to the ground. The devilish grin remained.
I released the toggle and began a peaceful and serene coast through the calm summer air. Below my feet I could see miles and miles of farmed ground and ponds. In the distance, I could faintly make out the long runway connected to the tiny Butler airport and set my course in that direction. After a few, seemingly long, minutes I made my final turn and prepared to land in the grass field just beside the hanger. I flared the chute by pulling down on both toggles as hard as I could at the last second and skidded to a stop safely on earth again. I couldn't help but let out a loud WHOOP and looked up at Yigas, still above me. I had heard a scuffle over the radio as I was falling through the air and knew there was something out of the ordinary w/ Nic's jump. Everything now seemed in order, so I didn't think twice about it.
Once the entire group was safely back on the ground and everyone had shared their stories and excitement, we gathered in the classroom for one final lesson. Our instuctor individually praised or criticized everyone in the group. The two hooligans I jumped w/ received the brunt of the criticism of the entire group. It wasn't until I developed the pictures taken from the camera mounted on the edge of the wing that I realized just how warranted that criticism was for Yigas. Later that night, I'm standing in front of the photo desk at Walgreens, flipping through the pictures taken during our adventure. I saw Buscher twisting through the air, but still allowing a safe chute deployment. I also saw my near textbook jump... if only I would have looked up higher so that the camera would have caught the grin that possessed my face as I sailed through the air. And then I saw Yigas... flipping upsidedown, through his risers, BARELY missing getting his arm tangled in the lines as his chute deployed. I immediately called Nic and we naively laughed about his ordeal.
If Yigas could do everything so horribly wrong and have only a nervous laugh and funny story to show for it, we would all be able to do it again- safely, that is. This adrenaline rush is incredibly addicting. So much so that we are all planning a follow-up tour in a few months for Buscher's birthday. Just a few more jumps before I can cross the number one item off my bucket list... freefall!
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
an active community
Given the not-so-subtle increase in training and the corresponding hours logged and struggle to keep pushing hard, I've joined up w/ an organization that trains for triathlons. This group of like-minded athletes has been a welcomed breath of fresh air into a routine that can become very stale and sometimes seemingly stagnant. They understand the lifestyle and the commitment it takes to excel at this level. They know what it's like to start your ride before the sun has risen, or what it's like to finish a run at midnight. They know the feeling of exhaustion after a multiple hour workout and cherish the relief a good stretch brings. They have probably experimented with different diets and nourishment routines and may have even learned what doesn't work the hard way. They appreciate the permanent ring of swimmers ear, or that chlorine might as well be your cologne. They all probably also have a bag of gear in their car ready to go, because you never know when you'll get a chance to get another workout in. Each probably takes just as many showers at a gym as they do in their own home and has perfected the science of packing a gym bag or backpack for race day. They all have experienced an injury of some sort and know the frustration it brings. This is a group that can share in your triumphs and also be there to help push you through your disappointments. We train together, we eat together, we even get to play together. I have grown to appreciate this group of people and am reinvigorated by the mere fact that there are others out there that share in my belief that this is a life that's worth committing to and sacrificing for. Thanks KCM, particularly T, C and C.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
measured progress
It's a drizzly, overcast Wednesday morning and I'm just now drying out from my rain-ridden ride this morning. The weather today is eerily similar to how it was in Wichita last Saturday. I'm finding myself reminiscing about the race last weekend as I'm stuck in this under-stimulating compliance training. Grand images of the best race I've had to date fill my head as the voices in the room dull to a faint buzz. I look up occasionally to make eye-contact with the presenter, but my mind is really consumed with that morning just a few days ago.
I rolled into Afton Park at 3 in the morning. It was still pitch-black outside as my headlights pierced into the tents that outlined the shore line of the lake. I slowly rolled into the designated parking lot and parked underneath a tree at the corner of the lot. As the slight rumble from my exhaust desisted, I could hear the faint chirp of the wilderness and the calm rustle of leaves that pronounced a storm was rolling in. I was just in time to sleep for a few more hours before I made final preparations. An hour later, the distinct ting of rain droplets crashing onto metal woke me from my brief slumber. I rolled up my windows and slept for a few more hours as the thunderstorms rolled in. At 6, the parking lot began to fill with athletes and the skies continued to unload waves upon waves of furious rain drops. Angry flashes of lightning streaked through the air, as though trying to prohibit the impending sunrise that was pushing through on the horizon. The parking lot continued to fill as the waves of rain began to settle into a slight drizzle. I opened my car door and stepped into the cool morning air. I slowly unloaded my bike, still dripping from the rainstorm, and made my way to the transition area. As I had become accustomed to during the previous weeks, I meticulously placed my gear on the end spot I had reserved. The sky continued to break into a colorful array of blues, pinks, oranges and yellows. Further off, in the opposite horizon, dark storm clouds still loomed in the distance. The battle between weather conditions struck me as appropriate for this morning and I was pleased that sunlight was winning. I grinned at myself as I finished stretching.
The crack of the starting gun came sooner than I expected, but paled in comparison to the thunder that had recently reverberated through our small corner of the lake. The air was so calm that I could hear the lapping of water caused from the mob of swimmers. I smoothly made my way down the shore line, falling comfortably into the back half of the group. At the turnaround mark, I snuck a peak at my watch: 8:00 minutes. Right on schedule. I felt surprisingly strong on the way back and picked up the pace to salvage as decent of a swim finish as I could. I exited the water at 15:30 and made my way up the long, carpeted path to the transition area. I was still breathing heavily as lake water continued to drip from my nose and brows. I was on my bike in record time for me and starting pushing immediately. I wove through slower bike traffic and was determined to make this bike count. I could feel my uniform continue to dry as I slipped through the air. My legs pumped steadily as I made my way through the field, clipping off stronger swimmers one at a time. The route had long, gradual hills, which accommodated my biking style wonderfully. I finished the bike in 33 minutes, a full minute faster than I had just the week previous. Now the true testament came...the run.
I slipped out of my bike gear and struggled w/ my shoes momentarily, swearing to switch to pull laces for my next race. I made my way onto the course, dripping w/ sweat and concentrated on my stomach...nothing. No waves of nausea, no gut-wrenching cramps. I picked up the pace and could feel small twinges in my left calf and right quad, warning me to not push any harder with the threat of a cramp lying just a step ahead. I continued to pass slower runners, although at a much slower rate. I was pleased that I was just able to keep pace and not lose ground again during the run, the event I used to rule. The overcast sky and cooler temperature, coupled w/ the absence of breakfast must've allowed my mid section to remain loose and I was thrilled about it. I pushed as hard as I could as I was passed for the first and only time during the bike and run. The 25 year-old that I had held off during the bike had finally overtaken me between the first and second mile. An older competitor that we had just past encouraged me to attack and stick just behind the runner. I obliged as long as I could, but watched him slowly slip away. I rounded the corner at the 2.5 mile mark and could see my target lying in the horizon...a large red arch, w/ very distinct white letters that spelled out "finish", faintly visible over the treetops. I picked up the pace, determined to leave everything on the course this time. And that I did. I crossed the finish line in an exasperation and looked down at my watch: 1:12:30.
This was a longer race than the week previous, but I had still managed to cut 4 minutes from my time. I felt incredible...exhausted, but overjoyed. I did the math for each of my splits and paces. The swim was my fastest pace yet, I met my goal of 22 mph for the bike, and was finally able to maintain 7-minute miles for the run. I FINALLY hit my times and was absolutely thrilled! I've graduated from sprint distances this year, as my next race is an olympic distance at the end of August. I am ready though. My confidence is high. This is still just the beginning.
I rolled into Afton Park at 3 in the morning. It was still pitch-black outside as my headlights pierced into the tents that outlined the shore line of the lake. I slowly rolled into the designated parking lot and parked underneath a tree at the corner of the lot. As the slight rumble from my exhaust desisted, I could hear the faint chirp of the wilderness and the calm rustle of leaves that pronounced a storm was rolling in. I was just in time to sleep for a few more hours before I made final preparations. An hour later, the distinct ting of rain droplets crashing onto metal woke me from my brief slumber. I rolled up my windows and slept for a few more hours as the thunderstorms rolled in. At 6, the parking lot began to fill with athletes and the skies continued to unload waves upon waves of furious rain drops. Angry flashes of lightning streaked through the air, as though trying to prohibit the impending sunrise that was pushing through on the horizon. The parking lot continued to fill as the waves of rain began to settle into a slight drizzle. I opened my car door and stepped into the cool morning air. I slowly unloaded my bike, still dripping from the rainstorm, and made my way to the transition area. As I had become accustomed to during the previous weeks, I meticulously placed my gear on the end spot I had reserved. The sky continued to break into a colorful array of blues, pinks, oranges and yellows. Further off, in the opposite horizon, dark storm clouds still loomed in the distance. The battle between weather conditions struck me as appropriate for this morning and I was pleased that sunlight was winning. I grinned at myself as I finished stretching.
The crack of the starting gun came sooner than I expected, but paled in comparison to the thunder that had recently reverberated through our small corner of the lake. The air was so calm that I could hear the lapping of water caused from the mob of swimmers. I smoothly made my way down the shore line, falling comfortably into the back half of the group. At the turnaround mark, I snuck a peak at my watch: 8:00 minutes. Right on schedule. I felt surprisingly strong on the way back and picked up the pace to salvage as decent of a swim finish as I could. I exited the water at 15:30 and made my way up the long, carpeted path to the transition area. I was still breathing heavily as lake water continued to drip from my nose and brows. I was on my bike in record time for me and starting pushing immediately. I wove through slower bike traffic and was determined to make this bike count. I could feel my uniform continue to dry as I slipped through the air. My legs pumped steadily as I made my way through the field, clipping off stronger swimmers one at a time. The route had long, gradual hills, which accommodated my biking style wonderfully. I finished the bike in 33 minutes, a full minute faster than I had just the week previous. Now the true testament came...the run.
I slipped out of my bike gear and struggled w/ my shoes momentarily, swearing to switch to pull laces for my next race. I made my way onto the course, dripping w/ sweat and concentrated on my stomach...nothing. No waves of nausea, no gut-wrenching cramps. I picked up the pace and could feel small twinges in my left calf and right quad, warning me to not push any harder with the threat of a cramp lying just a step ahead. I continued to pass slower runners, although at a much slower rate. I was pleased that I was just able to keep pace and not lose ground again during the run, the event I used to rule. The overcast sky and cooler temperature, coupled w/ the absence of breakfast must've allowed my mid section to remain loose and I was thrilled about it. I pushed as hard as I could as I was passed for the first and only time during the bike and run. The 25 year-old that I had held off during the bike had finally overtaken me between the first and second mile. An older competitor that we had just past encouraged me to attack and stick just behind the runner. I obliged as long as I could, but watched him slowly slip away. I rounded the corner at the 2.5 mile mark and could see my target lying in the horizon...a large red arch, w/ very distinct white letters that spelled out "finish", faintly visible over the treetops. I picked up the pace, determined to leave everything on the course this time. And that I did. I crossed the finish line in an exasperation and looked down at my watch: 1:12:30.
This was a longer race than the week previous, but I had still managed to cut 4 minutes from my time. I felt incredible...exhausted, but overjoyed. I did the math for each of my splits and paces. The swim was my fastest pace yet, I met my goal of 22 mph for the bike, and was finally able to maintain 7-minute miles for the run. I FINALLY hit my times and was absolutely thrilled! I've graduated from sprint distances this year, as my next race is an olympic distance at the end of August. I am ready though. My confidence is high. This is still just the beginning.
Friday, July 18, 2008
unexpected results
Here it is, incredibly early Friday morning, and I'm getting ready to go for an easy ride before my next triathlon. That feels good to say...my next triathlon.
I began my comeback tour at SMP last weekend and it went wonderfully. I wasn't quite sure what exactly to expect...after all, it had been half a decade since I formally competed at this level. The last time I participated in an endeavor like this, I was at the peak of my physical performance as a division 1 college athlete. The last time, I had been training for the past 8 years and was in excellent shape. This time, although active, I had only been training specifically for a tri for a matter of months. But, I was very pleasantly surprised by the results.
The morning of came just like any other morning. I surprisingly got a good night's sleep. The temperature was a little brisk for an early July morning. I walked out the door and the hairs on my arms instantly reacted to the slight, chilly breeze. I lifted the recently polished road bike on to the back of my car, grabbed my backpack that I had situated the night before and made my way on the all-so-familiar route to the park. My mind raced and my eyes opened a little wider as I came upon the sea of parked cars. I had forgotten how big of an event this was! I unloaded my bike and coasted the easy downhill route to the transition area. Thankfully, the tire pressure held this time. It was going to be a great morning.
I made my way to section II and found my area marked by the little 985 taped to the bike rack. I hung my bike and very maticulously placed everything in my backpack on a towel in my new 2'x3' home. My mind continued to race as I made my way to get my timing chip and to get marked. A very calm buzz filled the air as athletes of all ages made final preparations and warmed up for their various heats. I made my way back to my area to check out my competition, constantly stealing glances at the back of athletes' calves to see if their marking distinguished them as in my age bracket. I also looked for the absense of leg hair, a tell-tale sign of a more serious and prepared athlete. My legs were bare.
I made my way down to the marina ramp, put on my swim cap and goggles, and swam over to the starting area, exerting only a minimal amount of energy. I needed to be fresh for the swim- that's what I was going to struggle with. A calm, quiet, almost unnerving mob of athletes awaited me on the beach, slightly bobbing up and down in the gentle waves of SM lake. The sun rising on the horizon cast reflections on the lake that loomed in front of me. I had to squint to see the bright orange buoys that marked the course I was about to embark upon...they seemed further out than I remembered. And so the countdown began, but there was only one thing present in my mind: one hour, one hour, one hour, one hour, GO!
The swim started smoother than I expected, calmly making sure I kept a consistent stroke, breath, and path. At the quarter and three quarter mark I crossed paths w/ other swimmers, inadvertly getting kicked or hit, causing me to break stride and find a clearing through the now choppy lake. I peaked at my watch as I struggled down the homestretch of the swim and saw that I was in the 7th minute. I was just about on pace and the math I did internally helped me clear my mind of the pain my arms and legs felt. I exited the water at about 11:30, just a bit off my pace. I knew I needed to make this transition count and that I could also make up time on the bike. Uphills seem worst when they follow such an exhausting swim, but I would soon prove that wrong.
I made it to my bike, threw my cap and goggles on the ground, jumped into my cleats, snapped on my helmet, and ran towards the bike route, just as I had practiced so many times before. I didn't recognize it at the time, but not too many bikes were already gone, an excellent sign of my position. It took a couple minutes to get my legs back underneath me, but I soon found my pace as I wove through the packs of riders. The ride felt amazing, which was soon validated as I cruised through the first lap checkpoint 20 seconds before I expected to. I pushed through the second lap and arrived at the second transition 30 seconds faster than I anticipated. I slipped out of my shoes as I was slowing for the dismount and jumped off my bike to run and grab my flats. The next sight was one of the proudest moments I've had in a while...I turned the corner towards section II and the entire bike rack was empty. I was exhausted, but I couldn't fight the smug grin that grew on my face. I had beat my entire rack through the bike.
A minute later I was on the running trail, back on time, but something didn't feel right. My entire upper body had stiffened throughout the ride and it was a struggle to breath. I relaxed the best I could until I got to the hill at the dam. I hadn't prepared for this- traversing up such a steep incline when my entire body already ached of exhaustion. I struggled my way up the hill, slowly picking one heavy leg up and placing in shortly in front of the other, made it through the first water station and started to feel a little better. I picked up the pace, determined to keep my 7-minute mile pace, but my abdomen told me otherwise. Every time I pushed a little harder, my stomach felt nauseated, and I was forced to slow. I made it through the back trails at SMP and watched the hour mark slip by as I made the last incline just before the finish line.
I finished in 1:00:57, 40th overall and 4th in my age group. Not horrible given that the race included 205 athletes. I missed my ultimate goal by a little over 3 minutes, but just missed the hour mark I was shooting for by :57. Still, not horrible concerning I took 7 minutes off my time from 5 years ago. But, this is just the beginning. This is just the beginning of a very long, yet prosperous comeback tour that awaits me. Lawerence is in two days, and Wichita follows the week after. I am ready. I am confident. I will hit my times this weekend.
I began my comeback tour at SMP last weekend and it went wonderfully. I wasn't quite sure what exactly to expect...after all, it had been half a decade since I formally competed at this level. The last time I participated in an endeavor like this, I was at the peak of my physical performance as a division 1 college athlete. The last time, I had been training for the past 8 years and was in excellent shape. This time, although active, I had only been training specifically for a tri for a matter of months. But, I was very pleasantly surprised by the results.
The morning of came just like any other morning. I surprisingly got a good night's sleep. The temperature was a little brisk for an early July morning. I walked out the door and the hairs on my arms instantly reacted to the slight, chilly breeze. I lifted the recently polished road bike on to the back of my car, grabbed my backpack that I had situated the night before and made my way on the all-so-familiar route to the park. My mind raced and my eyes opened a little wider as I came upon the sea of parked cars. I had forgotten how big of an event this was! I unloaded my bike and coasted the easy downhill route to the transition area. Thankfully, the tire pressure held this time. It was going to be a great morning.
I made my way to section II and found my area marked by the little 985 taped to the bike rack. I hung my bike and very maticulously placed everything in my backpack on a towel in my new 2'x3' home. My mind continued to race as I made my way to get my timing chip and to get marked. A very calm buzz filled the air as athletes of all ages made final preparations and warmed up for their various heats. I made my way back to my area to check out my competition, constantly stealing glances at the back of athletes' calves to see if their marking distinguished them as in my age bracket. I also looked for the absense of leg hair, a tell-tale sign of a more serious and prepared athlete. My legs were bare.
I made my way down to the marina ramp, put on my swim cap and goggles, and swam over to the starting area, exerting only a minimal amount of energy. I needed to be fresh for the swim- that's what I was going to struggle with. A calm, quiet, almost unnerving mob of athletes awaited me on the beach, slightly bobbing up and down in the gentle waves of SM lake. The sun rising on the horizon cast reflections on the lake that loomed in front of me. I had to squint to see the bright orange buoys that marked the course I was about to embark upon...they seemed further out than I remembered. And so the countdown began, but there was only one thing present in my mind: one hour, one hour, one hour, one hour, GO!
The swim started smoother than I expected, calmly making sure I kept a consistent stroke, breath, and path. At the quarter and three quarter mark I crossed paths w/ other swimmers, inadvertly getting kicked or hit, causing me to break stride and find a clearing through the now choppy lake. I peaked at my watch as I struggled down the homestretch of the swim and saw that I was in the 7th minute. I was just about on pace and the math I did internally helped me clear my mind of the pain my arms and legs felt. I exited the water at about 11:30, just a bit off my pace. I knew I needed to make this transition count and that I could also make up time on the bike. Uphills seem worst when they follow such an exhausting swim, but I would soon prove that wrong.
I made it to my bike, threw my cap and goggles on the ground, jumped into my cleats, snapped on my helmet, and ran towards the bike route, just as I had practiced so many times before. I didn't recognize it at the time, but not too many bikes were already gone, an excellent sign of my position. It took a couple minutes to get my legs back underneath me, but I soon found my pace as I wove through the packs of riders. The ride felt amazing, which was soon validated as I cruised through the first lap checkpoint 20 seconds before I expected to. I pushed through the second lap and arrived at the second transition 30 seconds faster than I anticipated. I slipped out of my shoes as I was slowing for the dismount and jumped off my bike to run and grab my flats. The next sight was one of the proudest moments I've had in a while...I turned the corner towards section II and the entire bike rack was empty. I was exhausted, but I couldn't fight the smug grin that grew on my face. I had beat my entire rack through the bike.
A minute later I was on the running trail, back on time, but something didn't feel right. My entire upper body had stiffened throughout the ride and it was a struggle to breath. I relaxed the best I could until I got to the hill at the dam. I hadn't prepared for this- traversing up such a steep incline when my entire body already ached of exhaustion. I struggled my way up the hill, slowly picking one heavy leg up and placing in shortly in front of the other, made it through the first water station and started to feel a little better. I picked up the pace, determined to keep my 7-minute mile pace, but my abdomen told me otherwise. Every time I pushed a little harder, my stomach felt nauseated, and I was forced to slow. I made it through the back trails at SMP and watched the hour mark slip by as I made the last incline just before the finish line.
I finished in 1:00:57, 40th overall and 4th in my age group. Not horrible given that the race included 205 athletes. I missed my ultimate goal by a little over 3 minutes, but just missed the hour mark I was shooting for by :57. Still, not horrible concerning I took 7 minutes off my time from 5 years ago. But, this is just the beginning. This is just the beginning of a very long, yet prosperous comeback tour that awaits me. Lawerence is in two days, and Wichita follows the week after. I am ready. I am confident. I will hit my times this weekend.
Friday, July 11, 2008
rekindled excitement
Shawnee Mission Triathlon is in less than two days. Five years after my last true competition, I am finally making a comeback tour. And a full tour it is. Three sprint tris in three consecutive weeks, plus two olympic tris and a half marathon in the next three months respectively. I was at lunch yesterday and realized I need to pick up my pre-race packet today. That's when it hit me…it was a not so subtle rush that washed through my body. Tingles of excitement surged through my veins, my vision became slightly blurred and the corners of my mouth curled up oh-so-slightly. It was a feeling that I hadn't known for years. It was a feeling of excitement that completely overwhelmed any pre-race jitters. I am ready.
Being the planner I am, I stayed up late the other night researching times and placement for the SMP tri in years past. My name is last listed in 2003…along w/ my 81st place finish. My swim was nearly 12 minutes, my bike was over 33 minutes, and my run was just over 18 minutes. My transition times were almost humorous. Oh, how far I've come since then…and that was while I was just concluding my career as a division 1 athlete. This year I am going to break an hour. I am going to exit the water before 11 minutes have passed, the bike is going to take just a hair over 27 minutes, and the run is going to be a strong 17 minutes. And the transition times? Cut in half…a minute 30 for the first, 60 seconds for the second. I've practiced the transitions and visualized the race. I am going to finish in the top 20. I am ready.
A few weeks ago I partook in the Tour de Lakes. It is a 61 mile ride around nearly half a dozen lakes in the Lee's Summit area. I finished in just a little over 3 hours. I was able to keep pace with the lead pack for about a third of the race, which did wonders for my confidence. This is my longest ride to date. To top it off, I rode an additional 40 miles the next day for a smooth 100 mile total for the weekend. Throughout the last few months, I've gotten to know SMP very well. My bike and I have traversed the pavement loop around the park more times than I care to count. I know exactly where the hills are and how I'm going to attack the dam both times. I also know that I need to attack mile three because it is a very subtle downhill that can benefit aggressive riders. I've literally rode this course forwards and backwards. I know exactly where the finish line is. I am ready.
Being the planner I am, I stayed up late the other night researching times and placement for the SMP tri in years past. My name is last listed in 2003…along w/ my 81st place finish. My swim was nearly 12 minutes, my bike was over 33 minutes, and my run was just over 18 minutes. My transition times were almost humorous. Oh, how far I've come since then…and that was while I was just concluding my career as a division 1 athlete. This year I am going to break an hour. I am going to exit the water before 11 minutes have passed, the bike is going to take just a hair over 27 minutes, and the run is going to be a strong 17 minutes. And the transition times? Cut in half…a minute 30 for the first, 60 seconds for the second. I've practiced the transitions and visualized the race. I am going to finish in the top 20. I am ready.
A few weeks ago I partook in the Tour de Lakes. It is a 61 mile ride around nearly half a dozen lakes in the Lee's Summit area. I finished in just a little over 3 hours. I was able to keep pace with the lead pack for about a third of the race, which did wonders for my confidence. This is my longest ride to date. To top it off, I rode an additional 40 miles the next day for a smooth 100 mile total for the weekend. Throughout the last few months, I've gotten to know SMP very well. My bike and I have traversed the pavement loop around the park more times than I care to count. I know exactly where the hills are and how I'm going to attack the dam both times. I also know that I need to attack mile three because it is a very subtle downhill that can benefit aggressive riders. I've literally rode this course forwards and backwards. I know exactly where the finish line is. I am ready.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
overcoming setbacks
Here it is, Saturday afternoon, a little more than 24 hours after having received news that many would consider disheartening. News that, if it would become true, would temporarily alter my life to a degree that I wouldn't be able to do some of the things that I'm most passionate about. Many would take this news as justification for self-indulgent dwelling on such a misfortune, but I'm not just anybody.
I saw an orthopedic specialist yesterday morning about this nagging pain in my left knee. His diagnosis is not what I was hoping to hear: a possible meniscus tear on the outside of my left knee where the IT band attaches to the knee. The only resolution to such an injury is surgery. Surgery that would result in a brace, crutches and the obvious suspension of any athletic activity for the rest of the season. Doc made an avid point that I must discontinue running until we could be absolutely certain that no additional damage would be done...not an easy thing to tell an athlete in training. And what was my response? No running? Alright, I can accept that on an interim basis.
This morning I rode 45 miles in two and a half hours. This is my longest ride to date this season...by 15 miles. It's going to take a lot more than a bit of daunting news to deter me. If anything, it's just encouragement to push even harder. The ride this morning was amazing. The temperature was perfect, the slightest breeze cooled me, and my legs felt awesome. A ride like this is the sweetest escape. Everything else in life just melts away when you hop on the bike and get into a groove. The only thing present is the rush of air from my rhythmic breathing, the roar of wind over my helmet, the slight sound made from bike tires gliding over pavement, and the occasional bead of sweat that slips down the bridge of my nose. I look down and see the wind rip the bead of sweat from the tip of my nose and send it crashing into my bicep. All I see past the glistening sweat on my forearms in the foreground are two legs steadily pumping and a tire that is spinning feverishly over the grey pavement. I look up again and all I see is a seemingly never-ending road and the faint silhouette of casual walkers and runners at the park. Occasionally, the outline of another cyclist will appear on the horizon. My natural reaction is to tuck a little tighter to the bike, push the pedals a little harder, and attack until I overcome the unknowing athlete. Some are more difficult to chase down than others, but the pursuit will continue until my pride has been satisfied. I'll steal a peak over my shoulder on occasion and will see other cyclists peel off the route, seemingly nearing completion of his or her workout. I will continue on. The most difficult question I face on the bike is, "Do I ride another lap, another 4.5 miles?" The answer is always the same...yes; push until you can't go any further. I have a long ways to go until I can finish an Ironman, and that training isn't going to complete itself.
Tell me I can't finish 140.6 miles. Tell me my body can't handle it. Tell me I'm not good enough. And then just sit back and see what happens. I will find a way.
I saw an orthopedic specialist yesterday morning about this nagging pain in my left knee. His diagnosis is not what I was hoping to hear: a possible meniscus tear on the outside of my left knee where the IT band attaches to the knee. The only resolution to such an injury is surgery. Surgery that would result in a brace, crutches and the obvious suspension of any athletic activity for the rest of the season. Doc made an avid point that I must discontinue running until we could be absolutely certain that no additional damage would be done...not an easy thing to tell an athlete in training. And what was my response? No running? Alright, I can accept that on an interim basis.
This morning I rode 45 miles in two and a half hours. This is my longest ride to date this season...by 15 miles. It's going to take a lot more than a bit of daunting news to deter me. If anything, it's just encouragement to push even harder. The ride this morning was amazing. The temperature was perfect, the slightest breeze cooled me, and my legs felt awesome. A ride like this is the sweetest escape. Everything else in life just melts away when you hop on the bike and get into a groove. The only thing present is the rush of air from my rhythmic breathing, the roar of wind over my helmet, the slight sound made from bike tires gliding over pavement, and the occasional bead of sweat that slips down the bridge of my nose. I look down and see the wind rip the bead of sweat from the tip of my nose and send it crashing into my bicep. All I see past the glistening sweat on my forearms in the foreground are two legs steadily pumping and a tire that is spinning feverishly over the grey pavement. I look up again and all I see is a seemingly never-ending road and the faint silhouette of casual walkers and runners at the park. Occasionally, the outline of another cyclist will appear on the horizon. My natural reaction is to tuck a little tighter to the bike, push the pedals a little harder, and attack until I overcome the unknowing athlete. Some are more difficult to chase down than others, but the pursuit will continue until my pride has been satisfied. I'll steal a peak over my shoulder on occasion and will see other cyclists peel off the route, seemingly nearing completion of his or her workout. I will continue on. The most difficult question I face on the bike is, "Do I ride another lap, another 4.5 miles?" The answer is always the same...yes; push until you can't go any further. I have a long ways to go until I can finish an Ironman, and that training isn't going to complete itself.
Tell me I can't finish 140.6 miles. Tell me my body can't handle it. Tell me I'm not good enough. And then just sit back and see what happens. I will find a way.
Monday, June 2, 2008
aspirations
I recently had a birthday...my 27th birthday to be exact. Time to grow up, right? I'm not convinced of that yet so we'll save that for another day. What's been on my mind more so is that I turn 30 in three years. I don't have any apprehensions with turning the dreaded 3-0, like many twentysomethings do. What reverberates in my mind is the associated physical peak that comes with this age. Most that know me well, know that I love competing. Upon college graduation and hanging up my track spikes, I've turned to triathlons to fill that void. I competed for a few years and did well, but had to take the last few years off due to nagging knee injuries. I recently took training up again and have started the ascent of the slow, painful climb to physical strength and endurance. No pun intended, especially given that I just rode the daunting hills out at Shawnee Mission park. My comeback tour actually begins there only a little more than a month away. I have also delved into the training necessary to be able to compete in an Ironman triathlon. For those that might not know, an Ironman consists of a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and a marathon, or 26.2 mile run. It takes an incredible amount of training to accomplish such a feat and I plan to do so by the time I'm 30.
I was in Wichita a few weekends ago to help my cousin celebrate his marriage. The next day I spent some time at another cousin's home. This cousin's wife, a mother of 4 children, recently ran her first marathon. It was the coveted Nike women's marathon in San Francisco. She was so proud of this feat that she created a picture book to tell her story. In this book, she wrote about how she had never run a mile in her life. For her own reasons of motivation, she trained and successfully ran an entire marathon. If she can accomplish this, I can finish an Ironman...if only my knees hold up.
There are countless miles and hours of training between then and now, but I know it'll be worth it. I can't imagine the feeling of crossing the finish line. It might take me 14+ hours, but I'm going to cross that finish line. And that feeling, when my entire body aches and burns, when exhaustion has completely overwhelmed me, is going to trump all the other feelings of accomplishment that I hold dear to me. That's the image that I've engraved into my mind for when I want to quit and am asking myself, "Why in the hell am I doing this?" More to come, but summer of 2009 will be the projected finale of this comeback tour.
I was in Wichita a few weekends ago to help my cousin celebrate his marriage. The next day I spent some time at another cousin's home. This cousin's wife, a mother of 4 children, recently ran her first marathon. It was the coveted Nike women's marathon in San Francisco. She was so proud of this feat that she created a picture book to tell her story. In this book, she wrote about how she had never run a mile in her life. For her own reasons of motivation, she trained and successfully ran an entire marathon. If she can accomplish this, I can finish an Ironman...if only my knees hold up.
There are countless miles and hours of training between then and now, but I know it'll be worth it. I can't imagine the feeling of crossing the finish line. It might take me 14+ hours, but I'm going to cross that finish line. And that feeling, when my entire body aches and burns, when exhaustion has completely overwhelmed me, is going to trump all the other feelings of accomplishment that I hold dear to me. That's the image that I've engraved into my mind for when I want to quit and am asking myself, "Why in the hell am I doing this?" More to come, but summer of 2009 will be the projected finale of this comeback tour.
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