The Boobies will have to wait

"You would travel half-way around the world just to see animals?" Kevin has asked me this question many times. My answer is always,"Abso-freaking-lutely!" followed by a gush of stories of amazing bird sightings in Tanzania, the innumerable wildebeest and Thompson's gazelles that surrounded my safari jeep in the Serengeti, clams the size of couches in the Gulf of Siam. So it should be no surprise that the Galapagos Islands are at the top of my Must-Go destinations. I want to see the giant tortoises, Darwin's finches, marine iguanas, and---of course, BOOBIES...the blue-footed ones especially!

There are 3 species of boobies in the Galapagos: blue-footed, red-footed, and masked. Each have their own niche in breeding sites, habitats where they forage. But I digress.

A few of my adventure pals are in the throes of planning a trip to the Galapagos in April 2009. The trip involves sailing around the islands (no human inhabitants on the Galapagos!) on a small ship with snorkeling, kayaking (what better way to see marine iguanas?), and hiking with a naturalist (fellow biology nut). I want to go so badly my guts ache. I justified to myself that those 2 weeks would be a great "mid-season break" from Ironman training, that I could take the money I was saving up for a cyclocross bike and go to Ecuador. Well, it turns out that this trip is gonna cost about 4 cyclocross bikes and a Cervelo P4.

Before I started cursing my decision to retire from general surgery with its resulting tremendous cut in income, I asked myself: If I could only chose between Penticton and the Galapagos, which one would it be? A tough decision but the winner is Penticton. Of course, a chance to do THE Ironman I've always wanted to do.

Tough decision...to a great question! If the worse thing I have to face today is deciding how to spend a vacation, well then my life is pretty darned awesome. Sure, I could whine about not having it all: Penticton, a cyclocross bike, and the Galapagos. But then what will I have to look forward to? Next week I shall start my Penticton training in earnest. I've wanted to be part of that race for long time and many things need to happen before I can get there. The Boobies will just have to wait.

A Well-deserved Victory

2 years ago, somewhere between mile 12-13 of my Ironman Lake Placid run, I blew up spectacularly into a million pieces. My nutrition was okay (probably too much). I had no GI issues, no orthopadic problems (every joint in my body aching doesn't count), no dehydration or hyponatremia. Physically I was in pain, but fine to keep running the rest of the way. However, my head and my heart were a mess. I saw Kevin around mile 11 and had to choke back tears. I still don't completely understand the emotions I was having at that moment, but it was a swirl of "Holy crap, this hurts. I want to stop. I want my mommy!" that spiraled into "Boon, you big pussy. Stop blubbering. You CHOSE to do this. No one forced you to sign, up, train, and come this far in this Ironman." How about that? I made myself feel bad about feeling bad. How incredibly crazy and unhealthy.
What I shall never forget was how my dear friend, Sherry, was there. She ran (more like walk/shuffled) with me from mile 11 to 15. She could see I was having my darkest moment and stayed with me. First, she tried to distract me with our usual chatter (except she was the only one talking) that we'd have on our long runs. When I was out of sight of Kevin, I started to sob.
"I don't want to run another fucking 13 miles!" I cried.
Her arms were around my shoulders, holding me up as the tears and sobs shook me.
I finally wiped my face and hiccupped, "There's no crying in Ironman!" and started running again.
Sherry would have run the rest of the way with me, but she was recovering from an injury resulting from training for her first marathon.
Last Sunday, I took an opportunity to pay back a small part of her kindness and friendship. Sherry had taken 2 years to recover from that injury and was running her 2nd marathon at Niagra Falls. Her sister (and my swim pal), Janelle and I happily played support crew for her on race day.
The race started in Buffalo, NY at the Knox Art Museum. We got our race girl to the start line with plenty of time for the pre-race emptying of nervous bowel and bladder. The morning sun and blue skies warmed the chilly start. After she was on her way, Janelle and I raced across the Peace Bridge and were pleasantly surprised by a quick border crossing. We saw Sherry at mile 6 as she came off the Peace Bridge and headed into the one mile of headwind on this blessed course. At mile 8, Janelle took her wind breaker then we were off again, speeding down the QEW to see her at mile 12, 17, and 20. What an ideal marathon course this is! About 1000 marathon runners: enough people to keep you company, but not too many to get in your way. The first 4 miles of the course wound through Buffalo. A run across the Niagra River, over the Peace Bridge (how cool is that?!), and into Cananda for a run along the Niagra River with the finish line at Niagra Falls. The course is flat (except the bridge); and on Sherry's race day the winds were strong and at her back for all but one mile. For support crew, the course was so easy to access via the QEW and country roads leading the water's edge.
Sherry was nervous about this race and rightfully so: She had been so patient and consistent with her recovery and training. She didn't keep her race goals a secret: She wanted to qualify for the Boston Marathon. That would mean running faster than 3:45:59. She told us on the ride up to the start line that she was going to run her race, regardless of what the time would be. Janelle knew her better and said that there were many levels of goals that we set for ourselves for these races: the "If everything goes perfect" goal, the "I'd be pretty happy with this time" goal, the "If it all goes to crap, I'm okay with it" goal. I told Sherry that getting to the finish line without and injury was half the victory. We all agreed, but all of us wanted so very much for Sherry to qualify for Boston.
At mile 20, the last time Janelle and I would see our race sister before the finish line, Sherry looked strong and was running smoothly. We were convinced she'd finish in 3:30.
At the finish line, we became anxious as 3:30, then 3:40 passed without seeing Sherry. Janelle said that she wanted her sister to have this victory: Not just because she had worked so hard and recovered with patience. Indeed, Sherry deserved to be rewarded with a great race. But, Janelle said she wanted the victory for herself: to know that it could be done, that one could recover physically and mentally from an injury and a bad race to triumph again.
The race clock now read 3:42:58. Janelle is jumping out of her skin.
"There's Sherry!" She screams, "Should I go to her and tell her to hurry up?"
"Yes!" I say, "Tell her to HAUL ASS, HAUL ASS!!"
I'd never seen a pregnant woman move so fast (Janelle is 30 weeks pregnant). She's yelling to Sherry and both of them come charging toward me. We run after her to the finish line: 3:44:37.
The finish line announcer says, "Slow down Sherry Hecker from Brighton, NY. Your support team is chasing you!"
Sherry tells us that the last 7 miles was so incredibly hard. She had slowed to a 10 min/mile pace for a couple of miles from pain in her hips. As she saw her hopes of a 3:30 slip away, she told herself that she didn't come all this way to not qualify for Boston.
I am so happy and grateful for her victory. It is a victory of patience and consistent hard work. It is my favorite kind of hope: that of possibilities.

Coach Mom

My mom is perhaps the most pragmatic person I've ever known. Her advise and opinions (mostly unsolicited) are devoid of any sentiment or regard for potential hurt feelings. The few times she has expressed sympathy have surprised me and the rest of the my family. It's usually while watching an Animal Planet program about the plight of sharks having their fins cut off and left to drown for shark fin soup or geese being beaten for their underfeathers to stuff into parkas and blankets. We find Mom tranfixed in front of the TV, in tears, vowing to NEVER make shark fin soup or buy down comforters again. Other than those few rare moments, she's all business.
Mom is like a rhinoceros beetle: black-horned and prickly on the outside with a soft, squishy underbelly.
She's only recently taken any interest in my triathlon endeavors probably because her hope that I would give up this un-doctorlike and expensive hobby had faded. She asked if Kevin and I train together (adding,"If you played golf, you could play together!"). I told her no--that he rides much faster than I do.
"So he doesn't ride with you, then wait for you to catch up?"
"No, mom, he doesn't." I'm anticipating some sympathetic comment about how he should be nicer to me.
She thinks about this and concludes: "This is good for him. If I were him, I wouldn't ride with you either. It would be complete waste of time." She goes on to tell me that we should train within our own abilities and that I should work harder so I can rider faster and keep up with him. Gee thanks, Coach Mom.
I tell her (big mistake) that when we met 2 years ago I could keep up with him in the pool and even dropped him once on a bike ride.
"Oh, REALLY?" Now she's going in for the kill.
"So why is he so faster than you NOW?"
Here comes the litany of unanswerable questions: Why don't you train as hard as Kevin? Why don't you try harder to swim, bike, run faster? He did it--what's wrong that you cannot?
I feebly explain that perhaps he's on the steep part of his athletic progression and that perhaps I have plateaued. She'll have none of it.
"That's all you have? Pfffft!"
I am 10 years old again, standing in front of her with my math test. I've scored 98%. She tells me, "That's good, but you should score 100% next time."
"So did you and Kevin sign up for IMLP?"
Actually, she doesn't call it IMLP or Ironman--it's simply referred to as "that race that you finish in the dark."
I tell her no, that we did not. She looks at me for a few moments.
"I understand. If your hobby causes you too much stress, then it just becomes work."
Ahhh...an enlightened triathlon insight. Thanks, Coach Mom.

Good Posture

I have the classic Boonvisudhi slouch: head and neck leans forward right where the neck sits on the torso. My dad, brother, aunts, and uncles all have it. So does this turkey vulture, but in a much exaggerated form.

I've been trying since high school to be more conscientious of it and stand up straight--it makes for better prom and senior pictures. I do pretty well--especially in front of cameras--but will slump back into my slouch when I'm tired.

At Masters last week, I subjected myself to a balls out set of 100's with barely 3 seconds of rest in between. At the end of the set, my friend Janelle looks at me sternly but sympathetically and says, "You need to keep your chin up. Your head position is really low in the water." Hmmm...I tell that it's a habit from a lesson taught long ago about "pushing the T". She then tells me that I should push the T from the top of my breastbone and NOT from my chin. Great point. Thanks, Janelle!

A few more 100's at zone 5 and I notice that my head position isn't about pushing T's but the return of my vulture slouch when I'm feeling fatigued. I straighten up, relax, and almost instantly swim faster with less effort.

I've been aware of this hanging my head posture while in aero on the tri bike. It sucks the energy out of my shoulders. I've made the straw on the aerodrink so high that if I slouch I get a straw stabbing in the face. This strategy has improved how I look in race photos (cuz that matters, doesn't it?), but I believe that it saves a few pennies of mental and physical energy for the run.

This weekend on a hilly trail run with Nathalie I noticed my hunching started when we'd reach the climbs. A small lift of the head---Voila! I was running more comfortably and efficiently.

Because my triathlon engine isn't a Ferrari and its horsepower is more accurately measured in how much energy a pony would generate nibbling on carrots, I'm all for being as efficient as possible. So my humble triathlon advise for today is to stand up straight.

True Love

The day after Longhorn 70.3 we went for one last dip in Barton Springs before leaving Texas. The cool water helped soothe our aching muscles; and the easy swim helped flush out the lactic acid. I was blessed with yet another cool bird sighting.

A snowy egret was wading along the bank stirring up fish with its bright yellow feet. I quietly swam closer to get a better look and it quickly let me now the limits of its personal space by giving me the hairy eyeball. When it felt secure that I wouldn't get any closer, it went back to its frantic foot-stirring forage. What a joy to watch this amazing creature! Kevin joined me. For someone who isn't a Bird Nerd like me, he was entranced with my Animal Planet moment. I told him about a book called "The Big Year". It told the true story of 3 birders who were competing for the most North American species of birds seen in one year---1998, in fact, the year that El Nino blew a bunch of birds off of their migratory paths to unusual places. In the book, all 3 birders made trips to Attu Island, the westernmost part of America--the last island of the Aleutian Islands, to see seabirds blown in from Mongolia. The winner of the competition logged in over 300 species in that one year. He spent most of the year traveling all over North America just to see some rare bird. When he saw it, he quickly checked it off his list and moved on to the next species to be seen. I said to Kevin that he didn't take time to watch these birds in their habitat being birds, that the birding was just a means of winning some competition, that he really didn't love them the way that I loved watching my friend the snowy egret that afternoon.

It got me to thinking about triathlon. I knew alot of people that seemed dedicated to triathlon (or golf or surgery or financial planning), were very successful at it, but didn't convince me that they really loved it. It's obvious that we all want to keep doing what we think we're good or even one of the best at doing. Who doesn't want a place on a podium, a gold medal, or a first place ribbon? My question is: Do we do these things because we like winning or because we like the actual activity? Is winning enough?

So I asked myself: Why do I persist with swimming when I'm barely clinging to average in my abilities to move myself through water? Because I've continued to improve every year since I've been in triathlon--so I guess that's like winning a personal victory. I enjoy being in water. What kid doesn't? In the very least, it gets me closer to fish and birds that I really love!

Why ride bikes? Why NOT? What's not to love about a bike ride? My Big Wheel (circa 1972) could conquer any puddle in Brooklyn the same way my mountain bike can leap over any rock or root in Ontario county.

Why run? Why NOT? What's not to love about being outside and running around with friends? It's a happiness deeply rooted in playing tag, Red Rover with childhood pals.

So maybe the real question is: Why train to swim, bike, run faster? It's obvious I love riding and running for the sake of each activity. So why don't I just ride and run? Why to do I RACE?There are very few opportunities for disappointment in just riding a bike or going out for a run without any measurement of pace/speed, distance, or time. There are plenty of opportunities for disappointment, disillusionment, and frustration in a triathlon: bad weather, bad nutrition, bad race execution, better/faster/thinner competitors. Certainly winning despite all those factors makes for a greater sense of accomplishment than just going out for an untimed splash in the water, a bike ride, and a jog without competition. I've also heard that we should race within overselves, that triathlon is an individual sport, that crossing the finish line is victory enough...But is it, really?!

Looking back on my performance in Austin, I felt that I executed my race plan perfectly and did the best I could with the training I had (what little of it) and the conditions of the race (hot). While I feel like I finally learned from all the mistakes I'd made with following a race plan, I am still disappointed with my results. As I mentioned in my race report, that is a result of poor management of expectations. The part of me that loves to travel and see new places on 2 wheels and 2 very hot and tired feet loved that race. The part of me that likes to win did not.

So do I have true love for triathlon? Yes, I do. I love the opportunity to indulge in this time-consuming and expensive hobby that taps into my childhood sense of playing outside with my pals. Even when I am disappointed with myself in a race, I still am grateful to be part of it. Of course, I love it even more when I win.

Climb Every Mountain

Two weeks into my off-season I'm happy to report that:

• The dog has replaced the Garmin as my running companion.


• I've rekindled the flames with my first velo love--my road bike (sans computer and powermeter).


• I found an old friend and made some new friends in the pool--they ALL swim faster than me.

Neglected household projects are getting done.

I'm catching up on sleep. Coach Mary believes that fitness is bankable. I believe that sleep is bankable. Though I think I would have to be in a coma for a couple years to catch up on all the sleep I missed during residency!

My off-season and retirement from general surgery came within the same week (which almost makes up for my malpractice trial ending 3 days before my A race this year). I came home from Austin and found myself with more free time than I'd had since I was a kid on summer vacation. I truly feel like the most wealthy person in the world because I have the things that I value the most: my health, my family, a happy home, and free time.

It's amazing how a little sleep, alot less stress, and the luxury of not rushing from one task to the next has changed my mindset. In planning the 2009 season, I've scheduled a hilly, tough HIM in May as a tune-up for Penticton. I've scouted out some hilly, long ride routes for Nathalie and me that will take us into the lowest elevations in the Finger Lakes so we can have long climbs up and out of them. Hilly trails and road routes are on the menu for the run training. I'm seriously considering ending the season with American Zofingen. Looks like the theme for next season is elevation gain! Now if you rewind to 4 weeks ago and presented this plan to me, I would have given you the hairy eyeball and said, "No f@*&!king way! I'm taking up quilting."

Seems like a couple of afternoon naps these last few days has got me thinking that I'm some invincible mountain goat! It's not that I think I'm gonna "go sub-9 at Kona"--unless that means running at least one mile of the marathon under 9 minutes. In fact, none of my goals so far have anything to do with results. Of course, I would like to increase my FTP, Vdot, 1000m swim time but for now I'm enjoying thinking of possibilities...The possibility of finding new races/venues right in my back yard (and finally getting to the dream race on the other side of the continent!), the possibility that I can climb on my bike/on my feet they way I did 15 years ago, the possibility that somewhere in me is an invincible mountain goat.

Surprises

Just when I think I've been there/done that, seen it all, yeah-whatever-ho-hum-yawn...something surprises me.

I've gone swimming in alot places: amazing blue waters of the Gulf of Siam, the Adaman Sea, and the Indian Ocean, the murky Monongahela River, countless waterways on my triathlon travels, and the dark, cold Puget Sound (which surprised me with bright purple starfishes). So as we pulled to the parking lot of Barton Springs in Austin, I was mildly curious but couldn't get too excited about what was advertised as "North America's largest natural swimming pool." This jaded traveler thought: How could a swimming pool in Texas compare to the coral reefs off the coast of Zanzibar?

The trees surrounding the pool are full of great-tailed grackles--large, irridescent blackbirds that sound like squeeky toys on amphetamines. In the Texas heat, I was happy to splash around in the cool water (68 degrees year around). The bottom of the "pool" is stone in large tiers with plant life. Kevin, Mary, Ken, and Kim are swimming in earnest as our race is only days away. I'm more or less looking at the aquatic life and fish spotting. Deep in the waters are pumpkinseeds, perch, and small bass avoiding the splashing of serious triathletes. I'm ready to sell my right arm for a snorkel! I float over a drop-off on the stone shelf where many of these fish are hiding. From my left side I see an avian denizen of the deep: a cormorant, head straight, wings tucked, webbed feet with a beautifully efficient breast stroke kick swims about 4 feet under me. He swims quickly across the bottom to my far right and disappears into the darker depths searching for a fishy lunch.

I'm stunned, unable to take my eyes off it and completely awash in wonderment. In all the exotic aquatic places I've ever been, I'd never had a BIRD swim under me! I came up for air and had to tell someone about it. Kevin was the first audience member of "Omigod! A cormorant just swam right under me!!" I felt like a kid who opened up the present on Christmas morning and found her first bike.

So blessed be Austin, TX where I saw one of the coolest things ever and continue to await more surprises.

Longhorn Race Report

I had stated that my goal for this race was to run the hardest last 5K of my life. However, the weather forecast called for 89 degrees; and the night before the race I made my #1 race day priority to not get heat exhaustion/heat stroke. The difference between heat exhaustion and heat stroke is (among other things) about an 80% mortality rate for the latter. I think I pushed heat exhaustion just about up to the heat stroke line at Eagleman by having mental status changes. Also, once you have heat stroke you are more susceptable to it in the future. I looked upon all these facts emotionlessly and came up with a plan to pour an entire water bottle on my head (no brain-baking aero helmet!) at every aid station and back off watts and pace by 25% if I began to feel overheated.

"Masters must be paying off!"
The water temp was 78 degrees--the same as the Nazareth pool where I swim. I planned on no wetsuit so as to not overheat. I also mentally prepared myself to have a slow swim without the wetsuit and not get completely locked into making up that time on the bike. The water was calm and lovely. I started on the outside and in the front, aiming straight for the first turn buoy. For just about most of the swim, I had someone to draft and happily settled into a rhythm that required me to exert slightly more than a casual pace. Upon exiting the water, I looked down at my watch and saw 34 minutes. No freaking way! I couldn't have missed a buoy because I was surrounded by my fellow age groupers. Did my entire swim wave miss a buoy?
No wetsuit means no wetsuit to wrestle off. How nice to not have to do reenact that WWF match of Hulk Hogan vs. Andre the Giant with my wetsuit in transition.

Triathletes on tri bikes = bad cornering
The bike course wound through the rolling hills of east Texas. The sky was mercifully overcast; and the pavement had only a few bumps thoughtfully marked in bright yellow by the race organizers. The first aid station had a lingerie theme as I almost rode my bike off course trying to grab a water bottle from a well-endowed volunteer in black lace negligee. I took it easy for the first 25 minutes and rode within my planned watts, feeling like I was holding back the entire ride. I took all my calories and salt on schedule, peed at mile 30, and waited for Kevin to pass me (his wave was 12 minutes behind mine). The aid stations themes were 70's aerobics class, cowboys, disco which made for great entertainment every 12 miles.
About every 20 minutes, a peloton of 20-40 guys in the 30-34, 35-40 age group would ride through either in a double pace line or 4 abreast. I take the whole drafting rule seriously even though I've never been in contention for a Kona spot or age group win---there's simply no victory in cheating. However, being surrounded by the packs of riders there was nowhere to go to avoid the drafting. Even slowing down to fall back was not an option as I was completely surrounded. The only way to not draft would have been to be riding my mountain bike off the pavement. At mile 40, my CO2 cartridge fell off and hit the magnet for my bike computer. With every revolution of my rear wheel, there was a ping! of the magnet hitting the sensor on the chainstay. I didn't want to stop and fix it with only 16 miles to go; and the annoying pingpingping! made the drafting packs ride faster away from me.
The course had a few sharp turns. I seemed to find myself going through most of them with nervous cyclists riding the brakes through the entire corner. The unnecessary loss of free speed was frustrating, but the potential for eating pavement seemed quite high. I was grateful for my mountain bike rides on twisty technical trails and cornering in loose dirt and gravel and vowed to do more of it during the off-season.
I finished my 700 Calories by mile 40 and felt hungry at mile 47. I grabbed a Gatorade Endurance at the last aid station thereby missing out on the water to pour over my head. There was a bit of a head wind for the last half of the ride and I was beginning to feel warm. However, I was holding my watts without a problem.

Focused suffering
For the first 4 miles of the run, my legs were leaden, my gut queasy, and my head swimming. I figured I would feel this way because it's been my routine for the last 4 HIM. I knew I would have to walk every aid station (quickly walk!) in order to pour cups of water, wring sponges and wet towels over my head, and drink. I accepted that it would slow me down, but was essential to ward off the heat stroke demons. There were 8 aid stations for each loop--16 total, each well stocked with wonderful volunteers. Keith Jordan really organized this race perfectly for the conditions.
Between the aid stations were bands: a rock band, a high school marching band that played "Ironman" with an off key trumpet and trombone section (I had never heard Black Sabbath in marching band form before!), a troupe of xylophonists, a man playing his guitar and harmonica at the same time. Following suit, the run course aid stations were themed as well. The most memorable one was the Superheroes at the bottom of the Quadzilla climb. Batman was in full black cape, tights, utility belt, and heavy black leather gloves.
Part of the run course went through uneven grassy trails with rolling hills and the infamous Quadzilla climb which was dotted with signs that read: Red meat isn't bad for you. Green, fuzzy meat is bad for you. The heat was constant on pavement and on trail--there really wasn't any shade at all. I basically clawed my way from aid station to aid station, clinging to the hope of cold, wet sponges. I felt really hungry twice on the run, took a gel with water each time, and felt bloated until the next aid station. I really wanted to eat something solid but knew I wasn't emptying my stomach because I was belching loudly--like Barney from the Simpsons--every 5-10 minutes. I think I was really at my physical limit to run, keep cool, and process calories. A few really fresh looking runners passed me and before I could curse my lack of acclimatization I realized that they were on relay teams. On the second climb of Quadzilla, one of those runners said to me, "Pain is weakness leaving your body." I let out the mother of all belches and said, "Burping is gas leaving my stomach."
At mile 10 I said,"Kitima, it's time to start hurting yourself." I stopped looking at my Garmin and pushed my effort until I could feel myself overheating. I knew I was going slow as I was on the grassy trail part and the last 0.6 miles was a cruel uphill to the finish line. I crossed the finish close to barfing and a bit dizzy, but conscious enough to ask for 2 race towels (I covet race towels).
Overall, I'm happy with my effort. My results are a bit disappointing but consistent with my inconsistent training this season--so it's really an issue of having realistic expectations. I have 4 weeks of off-season to process and learn from this season and make plans for the next. The race organization and the enthusiasm of the volunteers was one of the best I've ever experienced.