Becoming 1 With the Bike, 1 With Myself

While cycling through the foothills of Malibu Canyon, I realized I might as well have been riding a tandem bike.

I felt like two people sharing the same body.

There was the groggy, embarrassed and melancholy Ryan who was flustered after being startled awake at 5:30 a.m. by Trudy, arrived to the Fortius group ride (pictured) late, busted his tube while trying to put air in the tire, and established a new Fortius team record for the slowest tire change (14 minutes!). Not to mention that four hours on the bike without much conversation was proving fertile ground to recycle and re-analyze the details of my defunct relationship with my ex-girlfriend.

But there was also the strong, confident and experienced Ryan who is finally mentally getting over the effects of last year's bike crash, seeing dramatic improvements in his fitness and is learning much more about effective pacing and nutrition on long rides.

In fact, today's ride, much like yesterday's run and the swim earlier this week, was perhaps the best cycling I've done yet. I felt strong on hill climbs, my heart rate remained mostly below 150 bpm even on grades as high as 11%, and I surprised myself climbing the fabled "7 Minute Hill" off Mulholland Drive in just over 11 minutes. Coach Gerardo thinks I can hit seven minutes by the time my Ironman rolls around in November. We'll see about that.

Be that as it may, if you were to shuffle all the feelings described above like a deck of cards and scatter them rapidly across the blackjack table randomly, you could gain a glimpse into the frenetic innermost workings of my overly active mind on a crisp, sunny Sunday morning.

They all converged though when I realized the parallels inherent in recovering mentally from a harrowing bike crash and recovering from a tough break-up.

Of course, this exact thought entered my mind as I was hurtling around the corners down "7 Minute Hill" at speeds I haven't attempted in several months. But I was comfortable. I wasn't going for speed, but rather efficiency on holding a line. The speed was just a fortunate byproduct of confidence, more hours on the bike, and a healed psyche. I truly, for the first time ever on a bike, felt like I was One with it.

Corny as it sounds, I truly felt a deeper connection with my bike today. Like my bike would protect me if I trusted it the way the kid trusted the horse in Black Beauty. Or any other movie involving a headstrong kid and a stubborn horse!

I digress. My point though is that healing takes time. This feeling of Oneness didn't happen overnight. Far from it. I've only learned what Oneness actually can feel like by toppling down Santa Susana Pass last April.

Healing, no matter how hard you try, can't be forced. You have to proceed cautiously for a long time. You can't rush healing. It has to happen in baby steps, and a process has to be trusted. You also need people you can lean on for support, people who help you improve and grow. Then, one day when you least expect it, you're "healed." Sure, you remember the pain, the suffering, the anxiety. You never forget it. But you also gather the experience and become better, faster, stronger.

Right now, my relationship scrapes are pretty fresh. No more bleeding, but the bandages are still being changed out. I am up and moving forward, but must accept doing so cautiously. I can't just rocket around the next dating corner automatically. There have to be baby steps first. A process. And, as frustrated as I am about it all, none of this can be forced.

Even though this realization may not change how I feel emotionally, it offers me a framework for dealing with the grief more effectively. For understanding where I'm at, independent of that oft-used DABDA acronym (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance) quoted by the TV psycho-pundits. And what's still in store for me on this windy road ahead.

Strangely, I find that context soothing.

I never imagined that crashing my bike would teach me so much about the importance of getting back on it. Literally, and metaphorically speaking.

297 days and counting.

I See You

I had an "a-ha!" moment in training today. Not necessarily a good one, mind you, but incredibly important nonetheless.

Halfway through my 2.5-hour run around Brentwood/Santa Monica early this morning, I was informed by Coach Gerardo that I have been confusing heart-rate zones. I've been using my bike HR parameters on my runs as well as the bike. That would explain why I've been feeling like I'm going slower than my compatriots during our training runs. I was chaining myself unnecessarily to a much lower beats per minute count (by a factor of nearly 10 bpm).

Oh.

The second half of my run today was much better, needless to say! Now, I think I may have a shot at beating my personal best half-marathon time last year (1:50:10). I'll get the chance to find out next week in Huntington Beach at the Surf City Half-Marathon. Now, I can't wait.

After finishing the 15-mile run and a Governator sighting (driving a red convertible Hummer with Secret Service vehicles in tow), I sped home to get ready for my parents' 40th wedding anniversary lunch. My sister and I were co-hosting, and as the clock ticked down to T-minus 1 hour, I had images of showing up breathless and stinky because of the typically horrendous 405/101 Freeway traffic.

Fortunately, these fears didn't materialize and we had a fantastic afternoon of reminiscing with my parents' friends. The most poignant moment, for me, was my mom's toast to my dad. She actually quoted Avatar, which I'm still wrapping my head around, and the way the N'avi say "I see you" to each other as a way of identifying with the other's soul.

I'm preparing for bed now (big bike ride tomorrow a.m.) after hanging out with my sister and her boyfriend. I'm absolutely sure they will have a terrific life together because they "see" each other clearly.

One day, I will see someone too. And they will see me. But I am honored that I've had relationships where I've clearly "seen" a special someone, and they've seen me too. I look forward to that day again, and am fortunate to have two parents remain together through many ups and downs over the years to show me what that statement really means in the terrestrial world.

Right now though, I'm seeing my bed. And it's seein' me.

Happy Anniversary, mom and dad.

298 days and counting.

The Joy of Blogging

Nothing really happened of note today.

And that is the joy of blogging. I am forced to stop and think about what actually did happen, even if it seems inconsequential. Blogging slows time down at that late hour where an old day ends and a new one begins. It offers an opportunity for reflection where none would otherwise occur -- when the joyful feeling of crawling into bed with cold sheets, warm sweats, and a heavy head is savored just a bit longer thanks to a room illuminated by a solitary laptop.

Since today was an off-day from training, I was able to focus solely on work and non-Ironman pursuits. And I still found time for burgers and beer at the Blue Dog tonight. The highlight of my day was, without doubt, seeing the in-progress version of my pending IronMadMan website. It still has a ways to go, but Ward is doing a fantastic job of bringing my vision to life. I can't wait until I switch over to the new site and we can open up the community further without having to worry about sign-in info. The goal for the re-launch is next week.

I need to power down and call it a night. I have to get up in 6.5 hours for a 2.5 hour run before the beginning of my parents' 40th anniversary party in Westlake.

More to report then.

Wow, i just realized that in another moment, we'll already be out of the 300s on the countdown! I'm kind of sad, actually. Which is completely unexpected. See, I'll never be able to recapture the feeling of being a first-time Ironman-in-training in my first two months of training. I now know what to expect going forward. Yet, the joy of blogging has enabled me to appreciate those two months more deeply. To understand my life a little better and the moments that help define it.

Thank you for sharing it with me.

... 299 days and counting.

Pizza as Performance Enhancer

Pizza, apparently, is my new performance enhancement drug.

Am I a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?

Pizza is the only way I can explain today's especially strong workouts. I ate up and spit out 2,200 yards in the pool early this morning, reaching all-time bests in cadence (45 strokes per minute!) and consistent sub-T pace (less than 2:05 per 100 yards)

Then, a few hours later, I crushed an hour run on the treadmill with a series of hill sprints at a 5% grade. I was hungry for more by the time the workout was over.

More training. Not pizza.

The night before, I enjoyed a work-related social event where a few of us got together in the studio for pizza and to watch a movie indirectly related to a project we're working on. (Yep, I know there's a few studio fans who read this, hoping for a scoop. Sorry to disappoint, but no clues today!)

Lately, I've been especially conscious of what kinds of nutrition I'm putting into my body. Even after my meeting with the nutritionist a couple weeks ago, who said I could stand to drink a milkshake or two, I've been hesitant. I'm happy with my appearance, and I have an irrational thought that if I let up on the healthy living for a minute... I'll go back to not looking the way I want. (Yes, I am a little concerned about how that last sentence sounds too, but if you saw how I eat throughout the day, you'd put those worries aside!) But, last night was an exception. Pizza sounded too damn good to pass up. So I splurged. A lot.

I figured I'd be sluggish in the pool as a result, but I felt the exact opposite. Light. Fresh. Strong.

And I have pizza to thank.

OK, maybe two months of consistent training and steady diet may have had something to do with my performance, but c'mon, if pizza did wonders for four turtles then I think we know what really happened here today.

300 days and counting.

Putting the Try in Triathlon

Today's workouts were supposed to be low-stress and recovery-driven.

I didn't realize that until after I was done with them, courtesy of a gentle reminder from Coach Gerardo.

The order for the day was yoga in the morning and an optional bike spin whenever I could fit it in. Total workout time would be two hours. Which is a lot during a work week, at least for now.

The only way I could juggle the schedule was to take an intermediate flow yoga class that was beyond my comfort zone at 7 a.m. I actually kept up through most of it and really enjoyed the trance-like experience of repeating multiple sequences (plank, cobra, downward dog, repeat, etc.). There was definitely something hypnotic about a rhythmic series of movements shared with several people, though I overlooked the breathing part more than I should have.

Then, we got to inverted poses. Handstands.

The only thing in my world that should be inverted is Maverick when he's pulling Mach 3 with his hair on fire as Russian MiGs try to shoot him out of the sky. Then, and only then, should something or someone be inverted. But certainly not me. And certainly not after I've recently digested a Cliff Bar and a full water bottle.

Then again, there's an interesting analogy here. I spent about 15 minutes just getting comfortable with the idea of spinning my legs upward against a wall, with my arms supporting the rest of my body weight. I only got close a few times to an actual handstand. Once again though, I realized it's the journey that matters. It's the process of trying. It's dealing with the frustration, the fear of falling, the fear of embarrassment. And pushing past that. Through it. Around it. Over it. Beyond it.

I'm sore from the yoga session, but excited to go again and try to make some progress next time. Like my swimming. Or getting on the bike again after crashing.

The deeper I get into this sport, the more I believe it really should be called try-athlon.

301 days and counting.

Trudy Wins

Can you hear that knocking?

That constant banging noise... you can't hear it?

If you can, that's the sound of my head banging against the desk in my office at home. Because I just lost my housing association appeal against Trudy and Bam-Bam's successful brand of noise-driven psychological warfare.

And General Noriega thought he had it bad.

So it turns out there's this thing called the Fair Housing Act that covers "discrimination" against parents of children in condominiums such as mine, for noise-related cases such as this.

Considering Trudy can make a plausible case that she's not playing loud music, breaking association rules about doing laundry too late or early, or having wild parties into the night, I've got no real recourse. In other words, I'm in an unfortunate, yet unwinnable situation.

I suppose in some twisted way I'm grateful for Trudy. Without this noise issue starting at 5:30 a.m. most days, I'd have less motivation to train. But, since I'm up, why not?

If that's not learning how to see the fucking sunny side of life, I don't know what is.

Speaking of training, I had a solid day. My Monday Malaise was long gone, replaced with a Tenacious Tuesday. I enjoyed an interval "cruise speed" run at Balboa Park for more than an hour early this morning. Of all the times to have a camera with me the past two months, this would have been it. The fog from the man-made lakes and creek beds in the nature preserve contributed to a menacing mist that might have given Stephen King chills. I was literally running through clouds of fog, just waiting for Freddy, Jason or Michael to pounce from the brush.

My workout continued at lunch with an incredible strength session at my work gym. I highly recommend this 45-minute program for anyone trying to get an intense full body workout.

2 sets, 15 reps, all done as supersets:

-- 10 minute warmup w/ treadmill or stationary bike

-- Lat pulldowns, dumbell lunges

-- Pushups, step-ups w/ dumbells

-- Close-grip pull-ups, squats

-- Alternating cable bicep curls, cable rope overhead extensions

-- Dumbell kickbacks, calf raises

-- 4x45 second planks

-- 3x20 medicine ball leg raises

-- 5 minutes of abs work

I lumped the planks and abs work together as another superset due to time issues (gotta do some work at the office, right?). This was by far one of the best workouts I've had in a gym since training with the Shan Clan.

Tomorrow, I've got a rare early morning yoga class and an optional bike spin in the evening. Since I missed a workout on Monday, I'll likely do both.

I'm already excited for the day to begin. What a difference a day makes.

Even if that day starts at 5:30 in the morning thanks to a noisy neighbor.

302 days and counting.

And Then You Have, the Facts of Life

Sometimes, I just have to sit for a while in a quiet place and try to make some sense of the life I live.

Most days, everything makes sense. I set a goal, focus on it, go after it, and after some struggle, I either achieve it or I don't. And then it's on to the next "thing," whether it's a new task, challenge, milestone, relationship, or something else. Challenges motivate me the way Pacman pursues pellets. I want to gobble them up.

On the other days, it's a messy jambalaya of good, bad, hurt, joy, gain and loss. The swirling feelings of conflict and confusion remind me of the lyrics to one of my favorite '80s sitcoms, "Facts of Life":

"You take the good, you take the bad

You take it all and then you have...

The facts of life, the facts of life..."

If I'm staring within myself at a big, heaping bowl of jambalaya, I find that if I can just sit for a bit and try to understand and appreciate the situation -- without trying to fight it -- I might rise above it.

This is one of those days. Though the "rising above" part is always easier said than done.

I'm not going to focus on the "bad" part of the jambalaya today, but rather the reason why I'm writing this blog in the first place: to give my future children (nevermind the lack of a wife or girlfriend at the moment) a blueprint for setting and reaching major goals and, more important, inspiring others to try and do the same.

So far, my father is swimming, my buddy Dustin is embarking on his first triathlon, Corey is trying to eat better, and I just learned that now Anat's father is starting to take walks with his daughter.

Partially because of my story.

The movement is growing! Person by person. Day by day. It grows slowly, but we are building momentum. Something special is starting to happen.

What a feeling!

Helping fuel other people's fires is rekindling my own when my flame runs a little low. Today, my fire was a little dim. I couldn't rally for my morning swim because of a poor night's sleep. I fit in my 45-minute bike ride on the trainer, but the swim was the first workout I've skipped due simply to lack of effort in my two months working with Coach Gerardo.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't beating myself up at all about missing a workout or why, but the process of Ironman training is at least helping me better accept the true meaning that tomorrow is another day. A new opportunity to spit out the bad pieces in the jambalaya. To refocus on the positive. A fresh start. A chance to look forward and not behind. A chance to convince one more person that they can do something beyond their wildest imagination if they want to and are willing to put in the work.

So, I'm going to amend the "Facts of Life" lyrics, for now. I'm going to acknowledge the bad but only take the good. And march forward.

And there you have... my facts of life.

303 days and counting.