3 Lions

My job gives me the priviledge of seeing (and most times helping) people face daunting and seemingly impossible challenges such as losing over 100 pounds, fighting cancer, and seeing their spouses, parent, and children suffer. I have found that how people react and adapt to stress and hardship is relative to the hardest thing they've ever had to endure. I've seen a 19 year-old daddy's girl bring her family to their knees over her migraine. I've also seen a 79-year-old woman with enormous weeping ulcers on her legs tell me,"It's no big deal, honey. I raised 14 kids in a 2 bedroom apartment in Brooklyn."

Certainly, we can be born into our hardships or have them happen upon us like being born in a 3rd world country or with a disability. Those who overcome them become a source of inspiration and hope to us. But then there are hardships that we chose--that by enduring them the reward makes the suffering worthwhile or meanful--like finishing my general surgery residency or having and raising a child. Lastly, there are hardships that we create. I find these to be the most interesting because one would think that there was enough suffering in this world, in this life that more wouldn't need to be created. Why create a hardship?

I wonder sometimes if I chose to do Ironman and half-Ironman in order to create suffering that I can overcome. My mom and orthopedic surgery colleagues tell me that my triathlon obsession has surpassed any motivation to just "be healthy". They tell me that if I really wanted to "just be healthy" I would go to the gym 4 times a week and do aerobics or maybe just do a sprint triathlon "for fun". Trying to cover 140.6 or even 70.3 miles in one day isn't about health (some would say it isn't even healthy) but about proving something to yourself or to the world. I understand they are concerned about the health of my knees and the impact that running more than 3 miles will have on them. [ Mom says, "If you ruin your knees with Ironman, how will you be able to stand to operate? How will you be able to make money to have babies?" I think she should enlighten alot of people in this world about cash flow and their ability to have offspring.]

3 years ago I took at trip to Tanzania. While in Tarangere National Park, I had the fortune and privilege to talk to a Masai warrior. My tourist group was on a walking safari led by some pontificating Imperialist airbag that I couldn't stand to listen to. We were escorted/protected by Masai warriors armed with spears in case we were attacked by lions, leopards, or elephants. Armed with about 50 Swahili words and phrases, 20 Masai noun, and a penchant for charades, I had a lovely conversation with one of our protectors. He asked how cattle were raised in America (Masai wealth is measure in cattle) and how Americans dealt with the lion and leopard problem with their cattle. I explained that our cattle are raised on ranches with fences (translate: "cows on farms with walls") and that instead of lions and leopards killing our cattle we had wolves (translate:"big dogs in forest eat cows"). I noticed that my friend had a number of scars on his face. He told me that the 3 circular scars are brands that were made for each lion he had killed defending his cattle. He explained that the random scars around his scalp were from a leopard that attacked him in the night and had his head in its jaws. He gestured how he killed it with his spear.

Now this gentleman could not have been older than 23 years. I think about the hardest thing I ever had to endure at 23 years old. All I could come up with was studying for the MCAT's and having my wisdom teeth pulled. I wasn't feeling afluent American guilt--nope, I didn't feel bad about any of the things and opportunities I had. If anything, I was a bit envious of his experiences with fear, danger, death and his ability to overcome them. I'm sure that if I could talk to him now and offer him the opportunity to do an Ironman he probably wouldn't (unless there were 2000 heads of cattle waiting for him at the finish line). It's simply nothing that would be of value to him: the suffering, the experience, a 140.6 sticker...none of it. So I asked myself what is the value of doing an Ironman? Is it because I probably couldn't defend myself or any cattle against lions? Am I making up for likely not being able to extract my head from the jaws of a hungry leopard? Wasn't suffering through medical school, residency, and a divorce enough for this life? Obviously, the answer is no.

I'm very happy and proud that I've done an Ironman (though not terribly happy nor proud of my overall time--that's another fish kettle of crazy). Ironman didn't happen to me like a cancer or disability. There wasn't a degree or awesome earning potential at the finish line like medical school and residency. I willingly paid $450 a year in advance to suffer within a 17 hour time limit. It wasn't for the finishers shirt or hat--anyone could've bought those at the expo the morning after. It wasn't for the medal either. I did an Ironman to accomplish something that most people wouldn't/couldn't/can't/won't do. Does it sometimes make me feel like I'm better than the overweight, smoking guy who honks at me on my long ride? Of course. Is it to be healthy? That depends. To explore the limits of my physical and mental strength, to be able to better endure other hardships outside of training with grace and patience--if I gain those things from Ironman then yes, it's healthy. To make up for an emptiness in my life, a shortcoming in my character, to chase the impossible for certain failure in order to get attention---no one needs an Ironman for that. Therapy may ultimately be cheaper.

So why Ironman for me? It has brought me wealth in the form of mental strength, confidence in my ability to run greater than 3 miles, insight and awareness of myself. As long those rewards continue to exceed the suffering, I'll be there to sign up. It's my 2000 heads of cattle complete with lurking lions and leopards. Now if only they made carbon spears that were more aero...

Recovery Week Weenie

While I've been doing triathlons for 7 years, I have only been really training in an organized fashion for 3 seasons. The first 4 seasons went something like this:"Hey, wanna brick today? Okay. How about a swim? Naw, I suck at it--let's ride instead." No training logs, just riding and running the local tri course as fast as possible. Periodization? What's that? I remember getting in just one last 20 mile hammerfest on the bike the day before an A race "just to get those bike miles in". I had pretty decent bike splits and even respectable 5K's on the back end of the local sprints, but when I moved up to the Olympic distance I had some spectacular bonking-crash-and-burn meltdowns with only 2K left on the run.

So when I thought I'd grown up enough to do my first HIM, I read Joe Friel's Triathlon Training Bible and found Coach Mary. 2K to the finish line was unpleasant, but staring down 13 miles or a marathon with no glycogen, mental toughness, or fitness left would be a death march. Base, build, peak, and taper--they all made sense, but recovery week? During my first base training for my first HIM, I remember thinking,"Ride in Zone 2, run embarrassingly slow/best alone...then RECOVER? From what? If I go any slower, I'll be catatonic!" No, no, no, no! I was not going to be a Recovery Week Weenie---one of those people who just can't chill out, must hammer all the time, suffer their insolence with injuries. I'm much more serene and sensible than that.

Fast forward to Build phase for IM training: Now I'm hanging on by my fingernails , clawing my way to those blessed recovery weeks. I think,"Yep, there's gotta be something to these cuz I'm crying out for recovery week and Momma..." For 2 seasons, I had a recovery week scheduled after 3 weeks of building on volume or intensity. You'd think I'd have learned something from 2 consecutive injury-free seasons punctuated with personal triathlon victories.

This season there are no scheduled recovery weeks. The serene and sensible part of me finds this to be a great opportunity to really tune into my body and figure out when it needs to rest and rebuild. The Recovery Week Weenie/Hammer-All-the-Time-Meathead part of me thinks,"Awesome! No recovery needed EVER! Show no weakness! If you use force and it isn't working, you're not using enough! Charcoal doesn't bleed!" and other macho neanderthal things that surgeons say.

So my first recovery week was around Christmas when I felt forced to slow down due to an upper respiratory infection. I cursed children with runny noses and the inefficacy of this year's flu vaccine. It's been 8 weeks since that recovery week and--you guessed it!--it's time for another one. This entire last week there's been a battle royale between the gravitational pull of the couch on my ass vs. the HTFU-Guilt monster in my head. I came home from work utterly drained of energy, but not sore in the muscles and feeling good within 20 minutes on the bike, run, or water. I was able to hit my watts on Sweet Spot rides, but noticed that I was on the slow side with E-pace and 100's on the swim. "No, no, no, no!" I said, "Do today what you won't so that someday I'll do what you can't...er, something like that. Anyone can workout when they feel great, but a champion works out when they don't...um, right?" So I would rally off the couch and Git'r done until yesterday when I woke up feeling like a truck hit me then backed up and park on top of my head. I did some laundry and cleaned the floors then it was GAME OVER. As it lay dying, the HTFU-Guilt monster cried, "You should've done your run and swim instead of housework if that's all the energy you had...."

So here I am: first day of recovery week. This week at work is blessedly light; and the only pressing To-do items are taxes and cleaning the bathrooms. Alright, I'll say it: It's nice to have time to chill out, rest, be serene and sensible. I'm getting in tune with myself, getting to know when I need a break. Recovery doesn't mean being a slacker. Yep, I mean those all things...mostly.

Pool Math and The Matrix

6 years ago I started swimming with a Masters group and was introduced to pool math--counting strokes per 25 yard length and laps for sets of 100's, 150's, etc. Not a problem! I'm Asian. I should have some inherent math ability. Then came the long sets for Ironman training...why couldn't I consistently count laps for sets of 300-1000 yards? Somewhere in the middle of the set, my chlorine-saturated brain would think,"Was that 350 or 450?" I tried counting just 50's, then just 100's, and back to counting every 25 yards---that didn't work. I tried "alphabet soup"--each 50 yards a letter, A through T would be 1000 yards--piece of cake, right? Somewhere around M, I couldn't remember if I had done M, was gonna do M, or was now on N. Next I tried naming a bird for each letter, A through T [Alert! You are now entering the very depths of my neurosis.] . That was even more distracting and less effective when I realized that after "Scarlet Trongo" I didn't know if I was finished or had another 50 to swim.

Despite my lap counting handicap, I managed to survive the Ironman swim and live to train another season. I have realized this season that the flaw was not how I was counting my laps, but that I wasn't really thinking about swimming, I was just trying to get it over and done. Unlike running outdoors or riding my Computrainer, there aren't alot of distractions while swimming. Occasionally, at the Nazareth College pool, a couple of co-eds in bikinis with a full face of make-up and perms will take the lane next to me to "aqua-jog" in the shallow end so as to not submerge above neck level. (I call them the BTG's: Bouncing Tittie Girls because they soon realize the lack of support in a bikini top and hold their breasts while water jogging) Anyhoo, their entertainment level quickly wanes and I'm left with my long sets again. I was doing everything I could to distract myself to get through the swim--especially the bird-alphabet thing.

This season the long sets are back. I've resolved to truly focus on the task at hand: improve my swimming. I've stopped thinking about how many sets, laps, 50's, 100's are left. I say to myself,"Your left hand entry, the ache in the pull---this pull, this catch for this stroke right now!" It's not comfortable at all. But I've not miscounted one set so far. I've stopped perseverating and dreading about the swim and just started swimming.

Which brings me to The Matrix, a fine film of post-apocalyptic earth dominated by computers, another Hollywood anthem of our fear and dependence of technology...There is a scene where Neo (played by the ultimate man-bimbo--the himbo Keanu Reeves) is sparring with his mentor, the Yoda of the 21st century, Morpheus. Neo has not realized his potential and his doubt limits him. Morpheus says, "You're faster than this. Don't think you are, know you are."

Certainly, I will put that quote on a mental post-it and file it away for race day. However, even now during the dog-days of base building, that quote is pertinent. My ability to overthink training and racing is "professional grade". Coach tells me to race from the heart; and I admit I don't exactly know what that means. It sounds like I should have confidence in my training and abilities, but I'm finding that it may have more to do with faith. The difference between confidence and faith is subtle but distinct--the like difference between thinking and knowing. When my dad and I discuss medical issues, politics, or history, he likes to ask,"Do you think or do you know?" It makes me stop and think if I could back up my statement with facts or simply state it with unwavering conviction.

So I think about standing in the water on race day. "I'm gonna break 5:45 today. I'm gonna run strong off the bike." Will I merely think this and justify my thoughts by recalling all the hours I've trained, the watts from my last bike test, my Vdot? Or will I know it completely and with certainty?

My hope is that standing in the water before my swim in Feb or standing at the bottom of my driveway before my E-pace run, I just plunge in and start swimming, start running. I'll certainly think about not crossing the midline with my arm entry or keeping my cadence high and my feet light. I'll rehearse all these movements until they are part of my muscle memory. Then on race day, I won't have to think about it. I'll just know.

That Which Survives

Last year's Ironman training hit an all-time high in volume from May through the beginning of taper (about the end of June). I remember being tired all the time. Physically, I barely had enough energy after work and training to do the minimal amount of housework to keep living conditions just above abject squalor. Mentally, my patience could barely withstand the everyday rudeness and negativity. So my survival strategy was to ask Kevin to pitch in with chores and avoid negative people/situations. Of course, the Kevster came through and put my inner June-Cleaver-Gone-Loonie-Tunes to rest. Also, I found that I lost touch with some "friends" because I didn't have the mental fortitude to tolerate their gloomy disposition. You know these people: On a good day, they suck about 90% of the fun from the atmosphere. On a bad day, they suck 90% of your will to live. I felt badly about avoiding these friends because they really had some good reasons for being so down: relationship problems, training injuries, money woes. I wanted to be there for them as a good and reliable friend. However, sometimes their coping strategies would be to remind me of my problems or prior mistakes to make themselves feel better. Like I said, on a good day it would just bounce off of me. But after working a busy week with weekends booked with long rides and runs, there was no bounce left.

It reminds me of the USS Enterprise--yes, from Star Trek. Yeah, I can hear it--the Geek Alert is on Red. Anyhoo, the deflector shields of Captain James T. Kirk and his crew's beloved ship can only take so many hits before Scotty starts wailing from the engine room. The USS Enterprise is a research vessel that's been retrofitted and armed like a warship. I don't think it flies around the galaxy with its shields up all the time--it just uses its weapons when it needs to defend itself. I'd like to think that I'm cruising through space checking out new places and people the same way. [Okay, maybe not like Capt. JTK who's always looking to schtoop every alien chick out there. ] I'd like to think I'm going through my day with an open heart that's not completely helpless. There's a line that needs to be drawn between helping those who ability to take seems limitless and self preservation. I think that line is defined by one's own vulnerability.

What does this have to do with triathlon? I don't know. I think I just wanted to write about Star Trek.

The Discomfort Zone

I've been swimming 3 times a week (>9K/week) for the last month. Compared to the pro's, top AG'ers, and swimstuds it's hardly a sneeze. But for me, a card-carrying member of the Flail Stroke and Splashing Inefficiently Club, it's an all time high in yardage. I asked for it because my beginning of the season swim test was abhorrent. After IMLP in July, I took a 5 month swim vacation. I basically didn't want to swim because I suck at it. So no big surprise with the swim test, but disappointing nonetheless.

I spoke to someone with whom I used to swim Master's about it. I said that though I've been swimming more since training for Ironman than I did when I just swam Master's, I still really don't swim much faster on the 100. Her response was,"And yet you persist." Ouch!

So I asked for an extra swim each week. I really, really like that I'm swimming that much. However, I don't like DOING it. It's an extra hour a week that I spend doing something at which I'm not very good, fast, or even remotely graceful. I have very little upper body strength or mass--something my mom is very happy about because it makes me look "delicate and feminine." So my scrawny arms and shoulders scream with every catch and pull. More than 10 x 100 on T-time and my roadie noodle arms are gonna fall off---and then there are 5 more 100's to go! And pulling with paddles for longer than 200 yards? I'm ready to keel over. Alot of my swims are at the Nazareth College pool--an old, dark pool that is 25 METERS. It's really not much longer than a yard pool, but I'm gasping for my last breath at the wall between sets to make T-time.

By the end of the 3rd swim of the week, I'm exhausted from the waist up and utterly overjoyed with my effort. As I said, I like that I'm doing this. I just don't really like doing it. My 100's are the fastest in my meager swim history. I am reminded of muscles in the arms, shoulders, and back that I had forgotten about (I don't operate on those parts and probably missed that day in Anatomy;)).

I have a friend who says that you've got to get out of your comfort zone for at least one month a year to feel really alive. I think he meant climbing Mount Kilimanjaro or ice climbing--but I think I've found that zone in some heavily chlorinated water. I have no intention of leaving this discomfort zone anytime soon. In fact, I'm looking forward to the day when it becomes a comfort zone.