Master of My Fate?

I watched Invictus today, in between training sessions. (More on that below.)

Invictus is an average movie but I'd still call it a must-see. Not because of the acting or the story, but because of the message.

And when I say message, I really mean one line of one poem. The poem that bears the movie's name. The line is from Mandela's favorite poem, Invictus. The quote: "Master of my fate... captain of my soul."

That line is deeply inspirational, but I wonder if it's truly attainable.

Everyone wants to captain a piece of your soul, or thinks they have a right to own it. Your family. Your friends. Your co-workers. Your boss. The tax man. And more.

But do they? Who's in charge, really? Whose ship is it? Whose fate?

Are you the captain of your soul or master of your fate? Have you always been? If so, I salute you, because that is hard work. I've had moments in my life where I've exerted that control, including Ironman training. But each of these watershed moments for me came or is coming at a great cost. Even when you win, you lose. Either in relationships, lost time, or letting down someone's expectations.

Yet I don't regret any of it. Not in my Ironman training. Not in other aspects of my life. My only real regret is not being a more steadfast captain of my soul more often.

***

Today's Valley Coach group training kicked my ass. Plain and simple. It started with a 13-mile Boney Mountain trail run (pictured) in Pt. Mugu State Park near Newbury Park. If you're looking for a challenging trail run, this is it. In fact, if you like running hills, this is really it. But the scenery is stunning and ranks high on my list of sights to see in my ever-growing list of "Hidden Awesome in SoCal."

Complicating matters were the new heart rate zones Coach Gerardo re-arranged for me. I wasn't sure how they'd affect my training, but in short, they've slowed me down. Apparently, I was working too hard on my Griffith Park run last week, and this did the trick in keeping me in check. Though the hills made that more difficult and forced me to walk more than I'm used to or comfortable doing. But this is how base training works, so I played along.

Fortunately, no soreness to report during the run. Not as fortunate following the run, and my subsequent swim after the movie (1,450 yards in a shortened 35-minute workout as the pool was closing for the night). I'm sprawled out on the couch writing this, with hardly any energy left to even get up. I'm totally cooked.

Too bad though, because tomorrow calls for a 50-mile group ride and an hour of yoga after.

Master of my fate? Captain of my ship?

While I may be the master, Ironman is the captain. No doubt about that.

333 days and counting.

A Cold (War) Run

I'm beginning to see a pattern in my Ironman training.

The harder it is to get out of bed, the bigger the reward for doing so.

It rained hard last night throughout Los Angeles. HARD. So, once again, early this morning my bed was cozy and the room was super dark. Just the way I like it.

Oh yeah, and it's Sunday. The Day G-d invented for NFL football.

But, training beckoned. So did Coach Gerrardo's brother, Rey. The elder Barrios was leading a small group of Valley Coach and LA Triathlon Club athletes (pictured) on a jaunt through what's called the Nike trail. Surprisingly, it's not an ode to Phil Knight's company, but rather an homage to an ominous monument from the Cold War. It's hard to imagine a time when the US Army felt a need to have missile stations watching over Los Angeles in fear of a Soviet attack. But there the restored structure stands, complete with a creepy abandoned watch post station just off the main trail, along with educational signs. When I walked up the small hill towards the missile launcher, I could almost feel the tension that seemed to choke some of the fresh air out of the crisp morning.

And crisp it was. My fellow LA Tri Clubbers and Valley Coach teammates laughed about the steam rising from our bodies in the 55-degree chill (Weather Wuss alert!) after the scenic 11-mile birds-eye tour overlooking the San Fernando Valley. But it was so worth it. I've lived in SoCal my whole life and in the short few years I've been training for triathlons, I've been delighted to see a side of greater Los Angeles that I didn't think existed.

There's still nature here! Paradise hasn't quite been completely paved, and that parking lot, well, there's still a lot of trails and gravel left to explore.

On a cold, wet, Sunday morning, I couldn't be happier I rolled out of bed early. I hope the next time you're contemplating turning over in that comfy bed to get a few more hours of marginal, guilt-ridden sleep, you'll think first of the unseen world in your backyard that's waiting to be enjoyed.

Rise up. Launch yourself out of bed. You won't regret it. And who knows what hidden monuments you may find.

345 days and counting.

Freshman, Triathlon Tech University

Waking up this morning sucked. And it wasn't even before 7!

Quick note: I've got the Upstairs Neighbors from Hell. You'll be hearing about the inconsiderate mother and her 3-year-old son from time-to-time, like now, for instance. I'll call the mom "Trudy" and the son "Bam-Bam." Imagine hearing an earthquake directly above your head any time between 5:30-7:30 a.m. and it continuing intermittently throughout the day until 9:30 p.m. 24/7/365. Yep, that's my life. Which is a blessing and a curse since A) it gets me out of bed early to train but B) I'm constantly suffering from a lack of quality rest, evidenced typically by puffy raccoon eyes.

This morning was no different, although I tried a new tactic where I slept on the couch in my living room to avoid the usual bedroom barrage. That bought me until 6:30...when Bam-Bam ran full-steam into the living room and sailed across the floor in his tricycle. "FML," as they say.

Needless to say, I wasn't my usual energetic self when I put my car in auto-pilot and headed to Old Agoura and the Cheseboro Park trails off, well, Cheseboro. I met up with my coach, Gerrardo (pictured), and my fellow teammates -- most of whom I was meeting for the first time. It felt like the first day of school, except for once I was starring as the strange new kid.

We were to run 10-12 miles, which I hadn't done since the Agoura Half-Marathon in March 2008. The most I had run since then was nine miles, and that was just last week in Central Park (Reservoir loop 4tw!). But here was the catch, we were going to run at a 10:00 pace and keep our heart rates below 150bpm. And, we were trail running, which I hadn't really done before to this degree. Nevertheless, it seemed easy enough, I figured, as I have been used to training the old-fashioned way: Progressively killing myself a bit more with each workout until my body demanded a rest day. Apparently, that's not the best way to train. Wish I had gotten that memo sooner.

I started off fine for the first few miles. Heart rate was low and I was keeping up with this seasoned group of triathletes that included prior Ironman finishers and a pair of speedy sprinting sisters. I even had the audacity to remark that this was the easiest run I had ever been on.

Whoops.

Gradually, Gerrardo and gang pulled away. It seems that their speed at 150bpm is slightly greater than mine. By a wide margin. But I kept at it, meandering alone (about a minute behind) through the cold, dusty hills that still manage to showcase their beauty despite being the highest brush fire hazard imaginable.

My tardiness turned out to be a blessing in disguise as I entered a creekbed to find a deer and her little Bambi grazing quietly about 20 yards away. Mama deer and I locked eyes and had a brief staring contest before Mama realized I wasn't worth paying further attention to. She went on with her meal and I continued my steady-as-she-goes jaunt.

While this was the high point of my morning, a moment of Zen amidst about two-and-a-half hours of peaceful contemplation, the low point occurred 80% through the run when I failed my first test administered by Professor Gerrardo. After 9.5 miles, we came to a literal fork in the road, at which point I was given the option of heading back to the car with a respectable 10 miles under my belt, or sucking it up for 2.5 more miles to make it an even 12.

I may have been sore, but my heart rate was holding between 149-152 and I had more in the tank. I wanted to show these folks they weren't dealing with a softie. I wasn't a total noob.

Wrong answer.

The final stretch was almost entirely uphill, to the point where I had to walk most of it to keep my HR in Zone 2. When we reached the top of the first crest, I called out to Gerrardo and playfully chided him for not telling me about the ascents. To which he responded, "that's because you failed your first test of triathlon training: peer pressure."

And so, on my first official run with the ValleyCoach.com crew, I was taken to school.

I'm now a true freshman at Triathlon Tech University, and a victim of some light-hearted hazing.

But I ran two more miles than expected, and although the back of my left knee is sore and I've got a blister or two on my toes, I'm in good spirits.

Hazing never felt better.

359 days and counting.