My introduction to long-course triathlon: Rev3 Williamburg Half race report

I felt confident going into my first half-Ironman distance triathlon at Rev3 Williamsburg last weekend. 

Just a few weeks ago I suffered through a 300k bike ride through the hills and farmland of northwest New Jersey. Earlier this spring I ran a 3:02:00 at my first Boston Marathon. And from all indicators my swim was really progressing. I dedicated significant time over the winter and throughout the spring to work on my technique and build a bigger base. It was starting to pay off. I use a simple 15x100 meter main set in the pool as one of my benchmarks. If I hit goal pace for every single 100, I know things are looking good. If my pace tails off towards the end, and the seconds start adding on to each interval, I know I have work to do. 

So, instead of feeling overwhelmed or nervous that I was about to race my first half distance triathlon after several years of Olympic distance racing, I felt confidently prepared.

Judging by the weather forecast, race day was shaping up to be absolutely perfect conditions - high 60's for the start, climbing into the high 70's or low 80's by the time I hoped to cross the finish line; sunshine and blue skies all day.

My biggest disappointment, though, was that my new Timex Factory Team kit wasn't shipped in time. Of course the delivery date was set for a few days after the race. I guess it wasn't all bad. I raced in gear that's familiar, stuff I've worn for years. "Don't try anything new on race day," right? (Fortunately, the kit has arrived since.)

The worst part about race weekend was simply getting to Williamsburg. In typical I-95 fashion, construction, accidents, and traffic made a two and a half hour drive into a four hour drive. Normally I wouldn't mind a four hour car ride but my wife and I hoped to have at least a little time to see some of the historic parts of Williamsburg and Jamestown that afternoon. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. Though, we were able to take in some of the attractions on Monday.

We finally arrived at the race expo, nestled in the corner of the large Warhill Sports Complex. As we pulled in, something seemed familiar. Ironically, some seven years ago, I played a soccer match at the stadium in the complex. My thoughts drifted back to that warm, humid, summer night when my NJ Rangers squad had one of our best performances of the season (as did I). As my attention came back to the present, I hoped to draw on some of those positive memories for my performance the following day.

Packet pick-up was fairly standard. The only other to-do item was to buy two new CO2 cartridges. If you read my blog about the Princeton 300k, you already know why I needed more. 

The revamped course in Williamsburg is designed with two distinct transition areas. In other words, T1 (swim to bike) and T2 (bike to run) are in two different locations, separated by about a 15 minute drive. I've never raced with this format before, so it forced a bit more mental and logistical preparation for race day.

We drove down to T1, located about 200 yards off the shores of the James River, just north of Jamestown Settlement (that was for the day after the race). In the parking lot, I pumped up my tires, and took my bike for a quick test ride to run through the gears to ensure they were smooth. No issues. Having just gotten a tune up a couple weeks ago, there wasn't too much to worry about. I racked my bike and got back into the car with Stephanie to head back to attend the mandatory athlete meeting at the expo. 

Athlete meetings are like picking a need from a haystack. There's a lot of information in about 20-25 minutes, but there was really only one or two things I HAD to know. The most important item: the water temperature of the river. "Eighty degrees," the race director announced. "This is a non-wetsuit legal swim." A couple years ago, when my confidence in the water was significantly lower, this would have planted a seed of anxiety. However, after hearing the announcement, it was just another piece of information I needed to plan for race morning. 

Dinner that evening was fairly simple. My parents finally managed to arrive in Williamsburg after a 10+ hour ride. They met us at this restaurant called "Food for Thought," which was a casual place, but good food. Several other triathletes had the same idea. Being in the car a fair part of the afternoon, and attending to all the pre-race festivities, I really never had time to actually eat lunch. Instead, I relied on my mobile food pantry, eating a couple of avocados, some almonds, flax seed crackers, and a banana as my "lunch." I wasn't really all that hungry for most of the morning and early afternoon though, thanks to a solid breakfast before we hit the road: 3-egg omelet with tons of veggies, sautéed kale and swiss chard on the side, a few slices of tomato, mozzarella, and basil, and a small scoop of quinoa. Oh, and a couple strips of bacon. What good breakfast doesn't include bacon?

For dinner I pieced together a couple sides, appetizers and an entree to create my own version of a good pre-race meal, I suppose: salad, chicken with a cilantro pesto, steamed broccoli, and mashed sweet potatoes. I did also have some raw veggies and hummus. I've tried to stay away from chickpeas (and all legumes, in fact) as of late, but I knew I needed to make up for my somewhat erratic lunch. 

Before going to bed, I fell into my pre-race routine of making water bottles (one with a mixture of UCAN Superstarch and the other plain water), packed all my races things for the following morning, and prepped my coffee and food. Around 10:30pm, it was lights out. 

****

"Craig, Craig! Wake up!" I heard Stephanie say in that whisper-yelling tone. The 4:45am alarm on my phone had been buzzing for a minute or so, but the sound of it was drowned out by the loud, rattling AC unit in our hotel room. I jumped out of bed. (No, literally. Stephanie has always said how deliberate I am when I wake up and get out of bed. What can I say, I'm excited to start the day.) I quickly fell into the motions I thought through the night before:

• Contacts: In 
• Race kit, hat, and sunglasses: On 
• Coffee: Brewing (Yes, I did the same trick I did in Boston where I brought my own coffee beans, ground them, cut a hole in one of the coffee packs provided in the hotel room, emptied the package contents, then refilled the filter with my own coffee.) 
• Breakfast: Made (Not only did this consist of coconut oil mixed in with my coffee, but in a cup I mashed together some Superstarch, water, banana, avocado, and some almonds.) 
• Water bottles and transition bags with all my gear: Check

I drove 15 minutes or so from our hotel to T2, parked, set-up my somewhat simple transition (shoes, socks, bib and hat), and headed for the shuttled that transported all athletes to the start. My T2 set-up did lack one important accessory - my 10oz running flask, which I was planning to use to carry my run leg fuel (Superstarch). I left it at home, though. (This is also what I successfully used at the 2012 Philly Marathon to qualify for Boston, and at the Boston Marathon earlier this year). 

I didn't put much thought into devising a new elaborate nutrition/hydration strategy for the run. It was fairly simple. As much as I despise the product for everyday use (or even remotely regular use), Coke is extremely effective from a performance standpoint. I don't do well with Gatorade anymore, and I'd much prefer the simpler sugars in Coke anyway. I was in performance/race mode, so I went with it. I used Coke and water on the run.

On the 15 minute shuttle ride to T1, I sat next to a very friendly guy in his mid- to late-thirties. He told me about his three young kids under the age of eight. We talked about the challenges of trying to fit in triathlon training with dad duty. It's a serious undertaking and takes serious commitment (and sacrifice). As someone who is not a father yet, I admire the countless people out there who do this juggling act everyday. 

Much like T2, my T1 set-up was fairly simple and clean. Clipped in my cycling shoes, put my two water bottles in their respective cages, and placed my helmet on the aero bars with sunglasses inside. I then made my way down to the water to get in a solid 10 minute warm-up. Unlike some races I've done, there was a dedicated warm-up area in the river, which I really appreciated. After a few smooth 50 yard efforts, I slowly made my way to the shore and spotted my wife. I was so grateful her and my parents made it to the start, and that I got the chance to talk to them beforehand. That doesn't always happen. 

Alright, game time!

****

The first two hundred meters or so of the swim were…interesting. Still fairly close to the shoreline, some athletes opted to actually run through the water instead of swim. For some, this approach was actually faster. (Who cares about how you're supposed to do it, right?) I did my own version of swimming interspersed with a few run-and-dives into the shallow water ahead of me. Nonetheless, once we hit the first turn buoy, things really started to smooth out. I was never quite able to find anyone's heels to draft off of for too long. But, I did notice I began passing a number of pink caps from the wave in front of my own. This gave me a boost of confidence. After only a few hundred meters, I found myself in a pretty comfortable rhythm that I carried the entire swim. 

I used to fear the swim. It was my biggest limiter. For the first time, though, I really felt it wasn't holding me back. Aside from looking straight into the sun the final few hundred meters and not being able to the sight the swim exit (this is when I really just followed those in front of me), I felt strong, fresh, and comfortable the entire way. 

Swim: 00:33:54

****

The first few miles of the bike were all about waking my legs up. I pushed a slightly higher cadence just to activate some of those cycling muscles. After only a few miles, I found myself in a small pack of about five or six riders. When I say pack, I mean clustered together, but strung out single-file with some space between each. It's non-drafting, though if you ask some of the athletes, there was certainly a fair number of times when athletes breached the three-bike length space requirement between them and the athlete in front of them. There was more than one exchange I saw between athletes who weren't happy about all the drafting. 

My nutrition strategy on the bike was again, simple (hopefully you're sensing a theme): 

• one bottle with UCAN Superstarch - sip on it throughout 
• another plain bottle to sip on throughout 
• Three 80 calorie packets of Justin's Almond Nut Butter (my version of a gel, I suppose) spaced about 40 minutes apart
• Grab a water bottle at any of the three aid stations for added water, some to drink, but mostly to poor on myself to stay cool.

I rode with three separate groups at different points throughout the bike. I hung with them for a time, then fell off the back (these groups pushed a pace slightly faster than my own 22 mph but it helped me keep my pace up). The course was relatively flat, with some rollers, mostly on the second half of the course. When I wasn't riding with a group, I fought to try and close the gap with the rider ahead of me, but never really "burning matches." I don't mind riding along, but its easy to stay in too comfortable a pace if you aren't careful (and don't have realtime data feedback, which I didn't). 

The only data I was able to use was time. This wasn't the original plan. It was the first race I planned to use my heart rate monitor, which I use from time to time in training, but have tended to rely on feel and perceived effort for races (and a large percentage of my training). I mostly wanted heart rate data to gauge my bike effort to make sure I wasn't over-exerting myself to the extent where I risked blowing up on the run. Well, once I hopped on my bike out of T1, I noticed my heart rate monitor had stopped working. "Well, so much for that plan," I thought to myself. 

To be honest, though, I really didn't use my watch all that much throughout the race (this may have been a mistake on the run, which I'll get to). As my first race at the half-Ironman distance I wanted to "feel" it out. Don't get my wrong, I certainly had specific time goals I was shooting for, but in the back of my mind I knew I probably wouldn't destroy myself. My "A" race isn't until later this year. (For those interested in some of the sport psychology around goal setting and suffering, check out this podcast at Endurance Planet.) Not to mention, I've always valued perceived effort as my primary feedback, and I wanted this to be somewhat of a baseline.

The final few miles had a number of short inclines and rollers. On the inclines, I began coming out of the saddle more and more. After two and half hours bent over in the aero position (well, mostly) the hip-flexors get extremely tight. Unfortunately, tight hip-flexors are NOT what you want to run with. When they are tight, the result is the characteristic sinking of the hips. Essentially, instead of being able to draw a mostly straight-line from the head, through the pelvis, and to the feet, the displaced hips create more of an obtuse angle rather than a straight-line. 

Why does all this matter? Running economy. When the hips start to sink, its much less efficient. Inefficiency means greater energy consumption, and that's not what you want during a long-distance triathlon (or really any event involving running). 

I made a final right-hand turn into the Warhill Sports Complex. I spotted my dad, gave a wave, and quickly returned my focus to sliding my feet out of my cycling shoes to allow for a quicker transition (as opposed to unclipping and running with cycling shoes through transition). My wife and mom stood along the barricade of T2 near my designated transition box. I gave them a wave as well, and was quickly on my way to the run course.

Bike: 2:32:19

****

There were some advantageous and challenging aspects about the run course. On the downside, half the course was on a packed gravel trail that undulated through the woods of the park. I'm not the most seasoned trail runner, but I gave it my best shot. The undulating terrain - short, steep inclines, followed by quick descents - made it difficult to find any sort of consistent pace. It was nice to have the free speed on the way down, but negotiating both the uphills and downhills slowed my pace a bit. 

On the plus side, the trail was obviously shaded, providing a nice canopy blocking the warm mid-day sun. The aspect I liked most, though, was how spectator friendly the run course was. It was a series of four - 3.2 mile loops, half on the trail, half on asphalt. The psychological boost of running past my family four times was huge.

My main goal on the run: pass all the people who passed me on the bike (and then some). Once I passed one, I set my sights on the next one to track down. In fact, there were only three people I can recall who passed me on the run, and one of them ended up being the overall female winner. I methodically turned my legs over, pushing what I thought was a decent, but conservative pace on the first lap (about 7 minute miles). I wanted to feel out the terrain instead of turning up the intensity too quickly since I was able to actually run the course the day before. This may have been a mistake. Though I continued to consistently pass people (I went from 54th to 33rd during the course of 13.1 miles), my pace slowly dropped. In addition, because I went by feel more than checking my watch consistently, I didn't have the feedback to push me and hold myself accountable. As a result, I finished the race feeling as though I left a little something on the course. (This was especially true since I missed getting on the podium for my age group by one spot.)

As I mentioned before, my run nutrition/hydration was simple. It went according to plan. I ran the first lap on just water, and then switched to Coke and water at the end of lap 2. From then on, I'd take a sip or two of Coke, wash it down with water, and pour another cup of water over my head to try and stay cool.

On the last lap I started feeling some real fatigue in my legs. But, like endurance athletes always do, I found some energy reserve deep within to "kick" that final mile. I made the final right turn into the finish chute. It was pure bliss. I spotted my wife and mom along the barricade (I passed my dad a hundred yards back). I gave them high fives, and in my final strides, I felt a wave of joy wash over me. I crossed under the blue Rev3 finish arch and was greeted by a glorious iced-cold wet towel. Incredible!

Run: 1:38:42

****

I reunited with my wife and family after grabbing a couple of waters. I knew I could've given a little more on the run, but I couldn't otherwise have scripted a better way to break into long-course racing. My swim and bike were exactly where I wanted them to be. 

I know I have my fair share of work ahead to get my bike-run where I want it to be, but in that moment, I just wanted to take a seat, relax, and enjoy the beautiful afternoon.

Finish time: 4:49:35 (4th in 25-29 age group / 33rd overall) 

IRONMAN and Little Debbie Join to Market Junk Food to Kids

Big news came out of Tennessee yesterday that I absolutely had to post about -- IRONMAN was "proud to announce" Little Debbie as the title sponsor of IRONMAN Chattanooga through 2016.

Yes, I understand the partnership from a purely business perspective, since McKee Foods, the parent company of Little Debbie, is headquartered in Tennessee. My issues relate to public health, and what this partnership says about where health falls on the spectrum of priorities.

The biggest disappointment, in my opinion, is that race weekend festivities include a IRONKIDS Fun Run. As described on the IRONMAN website, the race "offers young athletes the unique opportunity to feel the excitement of competition while enjoying the outdoors and promoting healthy living."

Here's my big question. How does a race promote healthy living when its title sponsor is a company that manufactures products that contain substances known to HARM health, such a partially hydrogenated vegetable oil (i.e. trans fat) and artificial flavors. Here are the nutrition facts and ingredients from the Little Debbies Fudge Brownies:

Ingredients: Enriched bleached flour (wheat flour, niacin, reduced iron, thiamine mononitrate [vitamin B1], riboflavin [vitamin B2], folic acid), corn syrup, partially hydrogenated soybean and cottonseed oil with TBHQ to preserve flavor, sugar, dextrose, water, cocoa, walnuts, high fructose corn syrup, whey (milk), eggs, soy lecithin (emulsifier), corn starch, salt, leavening (sodium aluminum phosphate, baking soda), colors (caramel color, red 40), natural and artificial flavors, egg whites, citric acid, sorbic acid (to retain freshness), almonds.

What's more, a number of major food and beverage companies have voluntarily committed to stop marketing unhealthy food and drinks to kids under the age of 12. And yes, sponsorships are a form of food marketing (just ask big tobacco). Unfortunately, McKee Foods, is not one of the 17 companies to make this marketing pledge. IRONKIDS events are open to kids as young as 3 years old and up to 15.

Regardless, food marketing to children is deceptive and, unfortunately, ubiquitous. It's well-known how this type of marketing influences children's behavior and preferences. My biggest issue is for the World Triathlon Corporation, which owns the IRONMAN brand, to say it's trying to promote healthy living while at the same time partnering with companies whose products clearly don't align with that goal.

The other ironic twist to this partnership is that IRONMAN Chattanooga is also "benefiting the Crohn's & Colitis Foundation of America." This certainly sounds admirable, but let's dig a bit into the science. Crohn's disease and ulcerative colitis are inflammatory bowel diseases. According to the Mayo Clinic, Crohn's disease "causes inflammation of the lining of your digestive tract, which can lead to abdominal pain, severe diarrhea and even malnutrition." One of the most pro-inflammatory foods overly consumed in the average American diet today are vegetable oils (partly because of their extremely high omega-6 fatty acid content). However, the biggest problem comes when vegetable oils are hydrogenated. Enter, trans fats, which research has shown to be associated with the development of ulcerative colitis.

One study, in particular, published in 2013 in the journal Gut, tracked more 170,805 women enrolled in the Nurses' Health Study over 26 years and found that "long-term intake of total fat, saturated fats, unsaturated fats (mono or polyunsaturated) were not associated with risk of CD (Crohn's disease) or UC (ulcerative colitis)." Now, before we exonerate all fat, there was one important exception to this conclusion. They found a "trend towards increased risk of UC (ulcerative colitis) associated with high intake of trans-unsaturated fatty acids."

The takeaway from this: long-term intake of trans fat is associated with the development of inflammatory bowel diseases such as ulcerative colitis. So, doesn't it seem ironic that the race is promoting a product that contributes to the same health conditions it's also trying to prevent indirectly through its partnership with the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation of America?

****

IRONMAN has done a lot to grow the sport of triathlon, and I'm thankful for that. In fact, I'm registered to race in IRONMAN events this year. Triathlon is a sport I love and will continue to compete in. Just don't expect to see me at the start line in Chattanooga in the foreseeable future.

Daily Expressions of Gratitude: They only take 5 minutes and can be the key to your happiness

Merriam-Webster defines gratitude in two ways. The first: "the state of being grateful." Well, that isn't very helpful. The second: " thankfulness." The only image I can conjure up for "thankfulness" is an amorphous picture of my family sitting around a delectable spread of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing and cranberry sauce, each person taking a turn to voice one thing they were thankful for at that moment. 

In his 2013 TED talk, which has generated nearly 3.5 million views, Benectine monk and faith scholar, David Steindl-Rast, creates a more vivid, accessible picture of gratitude:

"We all know from experience how it goes. We experience something that's valuable to us. Something is given to us that's valuable to us. And it's really given. These two things have to come together. It has to be something valuable, and it's a real gift. You haven't bought it. You haven't earned it. You haven't traded it in. You haven't worked for it. It's just given to you. And when these two things come together, something that's really valuable to me and I realize it's freely given, then gratefulness spontaneously rises in my heart, happiness spontaneously rises in my heart. That's how gratefulness happens."

But, later in the talk, an important question comes up, "Which comes first?" Is it the happy people who are more grateful? In other words, is happiness the prerequisite for gratitude? One can easily draw this conclusion if we ascribe to the false paradigm that money is either a good motivator (research shows intrinsic motivators are much more effective) or a source of happiness (the richest countries nor the richest individuals are the happiest).

So, why exactly should we express gratitude at all?

Two reasons: physical and mental well-being. First, gratitude has been shown to protect people from both stress and depression, two things that are far too prevalent. Stress, in particular, has been shown to be an underlying issue for a range of chronic diseases. Depression and other mental (and substance abuse) disorders increased by almost 40 percent globally between 1990 and 2010.

On mental well-being, one study from 2003 emphasizes the point nicely. In two separate experiments, researchers divided participants into three groups. The first was instructed to write down, on a weekly basis for 10 weeks, up to five things they were grateful or thankful for from the previous week. The second group listed "hassles" while the third simply listed neutral life events. 

The outcome? The researchers found that the group that expressed gratitude "felt better about their lives as a whole, and were more optimistic regarding their expectations for the upcoming week." They also mentioned that this group was more likely to "help someone with a personal problem or offer emotional support to another." So, not only can gratitude improve our own individual mental outlook and well-being, it fosters an increased sense of connectedness with others. As the authors rightfully titled the study, we might want to think more about "counting blessings versus burdens."

****

My gratitude practice takes two forms, one is periodic, the other is episodic. 

Habits structure several key aspects of my day, from when I train, to the food I eat, to when I go to bed at night. One habit I picked up late last year was to consciously express gratitude on a daily basis. I do this with a very simple tool, the Five-Minute Journal.

Growing up I went through short streaks of journalling, but the most appealing part about the Five-Minute Journal is that it's structured, consistent, targeted and quick. Every day, you answer the same five questions, three in the morning when you first wake up, and two in the evening before going to sleep.

• What am I grateful for? 
• What will make today great? 
• What kind of person do I want to be today? 
• What were three great things that happened today? 
• What can I do better tomorrow? 

Journalling in the morning, which is usually accompanied by a cup of coffee, automatically shifts my state of mind to the positive and aspirational. This is exactly how I want to start every day. I've also found I'm most productive and creative in the morning. As a writer, I thrive off these two things. Expressing gratitude each morning frees my mind from the previous day's negativity, essentially treating the forthcoming 19 hours as a blank canvas. It's on this canvas I have the potential to paint anything I want (by answering the second and third questions). 

I've had my fair share of rocky days when things never seem to pan out quite how I want them to. We all experience these moments. Many of these situations could've been out of our control. The one thing we do have control over is how we choose to react to them (for a gripping portrayal of this concept, read Victor Frankel's Man's Search for Meaning). By focusing on the good things from the day, or even reframing a negative experience to find the good in it, we reaffirm gratitude, and therefore our happiness.

For me, the most productive question of the five has been the last one: "What can I do better tomorrow?" This question assumes our human imperfections. However big or small, we all have goals we're striving to achieve. We all want to improve ourselves in some way. I contend it's this continuous and persistent openness to improvement that fosters personal growth and learning. 

****

Whether I'm standing on the start line of a local 10k or the Boston Marathon, I've also incorporated a very short and simple preparation habit. I take a moment, sometimes with my eyes closed, and think about the opportunity I'm experiencing and reflect on all the good things about my preparation to get to that moment. My training and own personal health often come to mind, but I also consciously say a big thank you to the people in my life, including my biggest supporter, my wife, who empower me to pursue my dreams and be the best person I can be. 

These quick expressions of gratitude, whether in the morning or on the start line, I believe, have helped me become a better runner, triathlete, husband and person in general. 

"You couldn't break me" - race report from the Princeton 300k bike ride

I'm sure you've heard of the saying, "when it rains, it pours." A classic line we've all used when bad things snowball after one another, one after the next. While caught in the storm, it's impossible to think beyond it. Will it ever get better? Of course the answer to that question is yes, but rarely does this thought cross our minds in the moment. We're too engrossed in the negative to think about the positive. But, it's this resilient sense of optimism -  that things will ultimately get better (and we'll be a better person for it) - carries us through.

****

I pulled myself up off the pavement. Now wet, I look down at my right leg to see blood seeping out of my knee and ankle. I pick up my bike and gingerly move to the shoulder of the road. A friend of mine, Jeremy, and I inspect the tires. Both seem fine. I quickly check the brake calipers to ensure they are in proper alignment. I gently pat the open wound on my knee with my new gloves. Just a couple days prior I contemplated not wearing any, but a friend convinced me otherwise. For $11 a the local bike shop, they've already exceeded their value, probably preventing another gash the the palm of the hand, which happened a few weeks ago (the result of not wearing gloves).

The only light shines from the headlamp strapped around my helmet. It's just after 4:30 in the morning. The sun hasn't come up yet. There is a distinct chill in the 45 degree air. Moisture still covered the pavement, a reminder of the heavy rain from the day before. "Perfect, and now I'm wet AND cold - not a good combination," I thought to myself. 

Just three minutes into the ride, I hit a water-filled pothole. In the darkness of the early morning hour, the water masking the appearance of a pothole, and my briefly glancing at the cue sheet and not keeping my eyes on the pavement ahead combined in some cruel act of conspiracy. I reached into my pocket to grab the cue sheet, and with only one hand on the handlebars, I didn't stand a chance. Thankfully, myself, my friend Jeremy, and his friend Ryan, weren't riding too fast after just embarking on the 300 kilometer bike ride in Princeton, New Jersey. 

I mount my bike, and we continue on, my focus heightened. The next 20 miles are slow moving, our pace hovering around 10 miles per hour. Anything above that is virtually impossible, mostly because our headlamps can't illuminate too far ahead of us. And with the result of hitting a pothole cautioning us, we slowly trudge on, eagerly awaiting the sun to finally appear over the horizon. 

My right foot and finger tips begin to lose feeling. The cool dawn air combine with the residual moisture from my crash to produce a numbing chill. I have much shorter patience for the sun than Jeremy and Ryan did. 

With the moon still clearly visible, the sky finally begins to lighten. We are almost 90 minutes into a ride that would test our physical endurance, mental resilience, cause two of us to drop out, and leave only one returning back to the Village Plaza parking lot back in Princeton after a nearly sixteen and a half hour day in the saddle. Here we go.

****

I woke up Friday morning and prepared to go to work like every other morning. But, what I encountered was an omen for things to come the following day. I put my small suitcase and bag of food in the back seat of the car. Next up, time to mount my bike on the bike rack. I stepped into the basement to fetch my bike and found myself standing in a quarter inch of water. The previous night brought some of the heaviest rain our area has had in some time. Flooding was never an issue prior to that Friday morning. And, of course, it just so happened to be the day I'm scheduled to travel for an event. 

Two hours and five towels later, I finally soaked up all of the standing water. My bad luck wouldn't stop there, though. I shifted the car into reverse, glancing at the clock: 3:05 PM. "Not bad," I thought to myself. "After a three-hour drive, that still leaves me plenty of time to wash my bike in preparation for tomorrow's ride, eat dinner, and get to bed at my normal 10PM bed time." 

The digital clock on the car dashboard read 6:30 PM. Instead of sitting in my cousin's house, preparing for the next day's ride, I stared ahead to a seemingly endless stream of red brake lights on Interstate 95. I remained optimistic, trying to convince myself this was the last patch of heavy traffic (it wasn't). Five hours and fifteen minutes later, I finally pull into the driveway at my cousin's house where I stayed the weekend. "Of course, on a day that began with misfortune, it would take me twice as long as normal to get here." 

I expedited my bike wash, mostly because it's nearly dark by now, and because I needed to eat dinner. It's 9:00 PM and I finally sit down to eat my sushi and seaweed salad. Sushi actually makes a decent pre-race meal. It has a good combination of carbohydrate (rice), protein (fish), fat (fish) and micronutrients (seaweed salad and nori wrap used to hold the sushi rolls together). 

Now, it's time to run through the checklist in my head to prepare for the next day's ride. Head- and rear-light on my bike: check. Mix of raw almonds, cashews and coconut flakes into a ziplock bag: check. Ditto for coconut oil: check. UCAN Superstarch into one water bottle: check. Second batch of Superstarch in a small flask to refill halfway through the ride: check. Spare tube, CO2, sunglass lenses, bike tool, and spare contact lenses in my saddle bag: check. Breakfast ready for the next morning (a small sweet potato, avocado, coconut flakes, and coffee with coconut oil): check. Outfit laid out for the next morning: check. 

I made myself a small glass of water mixed with Natural Calm magnesium. It's 10:15 PM. I set my alarm for 3:00 AM. Finally, it's time for bed. "What a day," I thought laying in bed. I had no idea what was in store for me in just a few short hours.

****

As the sun rose over the horizon, the course's elevation begins to rise at the same time. Our pace feels more normal now. It still isn't what any of us would consider difficult or taxing, but it's a significant jump from our almost sloth-like pace in the dark. The light provides a sense of comfort, of normalcy. I rarely, if ever, ride in the dark, making the pre-dawn hours that much more challenging. 

Our group of three turn into a shopping plaza - our first check point. This is the first of four more of these so-called "control points" interspersed throughout the 300 kilometer course. One of the ride organizers emerges from a bagel shop with a clipboard. I pass him my brevet card (essentially my passport), which he quickly signs and returns to me. He notes my time on the clipboard. "How's your knee?" he asks, noticing the dried blood on my right leg. I explain the story nonchalantly before using the restroom and remounting my bike. We still have a long way to go.

We still also trail all the other riders due to our 30 minute late start. But, the gap is narrowing. As we pulled into the control point, a group of three riders were leaving. It was encouraging to know we were making up ground.

Those first miles after the sun came up are some of the most enjoyable. Few cars, open roads, light. It felt as though it's just us, the road, and the beautiful countryside lining each side of us.

The course takes a noticible turn upwards. A total of six major climbs brake up the 300 kilometers, and mostly come during the middle 100 miles. Jeremy, Ryan and I ride on, methodically climbing the slow inclines and short, punchy ascents. The first major climb arrives in a familiar place in Califon, New Jersey. Growing up in the area I would drive this road up and down Schooley's Mountain countless times. I knew all the turns, the steep ascents, the short flats. This familiarity reassures me as we begin to climb. 

My focus narrows. It becomes entirely about the task at hand, turning the pedals over, keeping a solid cadence, and enjoying my surroundings. I remain in the saddle, never standing. I don't feel as though I need to. I begin to pull several hundred meters ahead of Jeremy and Ryan. I'm trying to conserve energy, but the climbing feels relatively easy. My quads feel strong, never taxed or burning. 

I spot a group of three riders ahead. It's a huge boost in confidence. Renewed energy shoots to my legs and I methodically pass them. We would get to know this group quite well throughout the day, leap-frogging back and forth over the next 80 miles. 

The sun is higher into the sky now, providing some much needed warmth. My damp cycling jersey and shorts are finally drying. Entering the climbing sections of the route also shifts my focus from how cold I felt an hour or so before to riding. The numbness in my fingers is finally gone. The descent down Schooley's Mountain is exhilarating. 

About five hours into the ride we spot a local deli ahead. We're low on water and could use a restroom break. The few moments out of the saddle provide a nice rest, mostly just a change in body position. A few hundred meters after leaving the deli, we come to a downhill and coast down. There was one problem, though. We can't find the next turn. According to Jeremy's bike computer we've covered the mileage indicated on the cue sheet from the last turn to this turn (and then some), but no street. We pull off to the side of the road and consult the always-trusted Google Maps on our phones. 

This wouldn't be the first time we miss a turn or need to stop to look at a map. All this, of course, tacking on valuable time and miles to our already long ride. We turn around, head back up the hill, and determine the unmarked road just before the deli we stopped at is the correct turn. "You've gotta be kidding me," we thought. There would be plenty more unmarked or poorly marked turns to come. I suppose deciphering these turns is part of the challenge?

We turn onto the main street in the rural town of Blairstown, New Jersey. Small, local boutique shops line the single stretch of business in an otherwise rural and dispersed town. The second control point is outside a small coffee shop. "Man, I wish I could sit here for a while and just drink coffee." It's an absolutely beautiful spring morning. Several other riders are also at the control point. We're certainly making progress overtaking some of the field. 

I take a few minutes to top off both water bottles, refill my bottle with my second batch of Superstarch, then dive into my plastic bags of goodies. I grab several hand-fulls of nuts and coconut flakes. With a spoon I got from inside the coffee shop, I eat a few tablespoons of coconut oil. The oil is beginning to warm ever so slightly, making it a bit tougher to get down without a slight wince. But, I stomach it, mostly because I know this is what will help fuel my body the rest of the day.  

The ride's toughest climb neared. It's a roughly 600 foot ascent through Jenny Jump State Forest. The scenery is incredible. Once again, time to float on the pedal and turn 'em over. My head and shoulders bob ever so slightly, rocking from side to side as I force the pedals down. The road steepens. I come out of the saddle, each pedal stroke reminding me of a similar motion made by my foot when I run up hills. I feel a sensation that I'm running on the pedals. 

I pull away from the group and reach the summit first. I encounter a secret control point. "So we keep people honest," the guy said. "There's a much flatter route through the park and we want to make sure riders don't avoid the climb." Makes sense to me. I top off my water as Jeremy and Ryan arrive shortly after. There is also a tire pump available, so I make sure my tires are well inflated. I had no idea this might actually have been a mistake, as it was downhill from here, both literally and figuratively. 

Descents are magical. You feel free. But, danger can strike. It did. I took the descent somewhat slow, only around 30 miles per hour, which is considerably less than what I could've gone given the steep grade. Less than a minute into the descent, I hear a "ssssss" coming from one of my tires. I've been lightly breaking the entire time, but start to break even more, attempting to come to a controlled stop. It didn't work. My front tire is gashed, the tube is flat, and the unstable wheel and forward momentum send me over the handlebars. With shoes still clipped into the pedals, my bike follows my body as I tumble forward.

Through some act of luck or skill, or a combination, I emerge from the crash with only a matching cut on my left knee to match the one on the ride. I landed mostly on my left shoulder, which also sustained a cut as did my side, both of which were covered by my long sleeve compression shirt under my cycling jersey. 

I pick up my bike and move to the side of the road. Jeremy and Ryan abruptly stop when they see I crashed. I inspect my bike. Aside from the gash in my front tire, and one of my two water bottles gone (it rolled down the hill somewhere) everything else looks fine. Thankfully, I lost the water bottle with just water and not my fuel. Flashes of Mirinda Carfrae from the 2012 Ironman World Championships came to mind when she lost a bottle of fuel on the bike course. She later bonked and missed her opportunity for a repeat.

The more important issue is where am I going to get a tire? I have a spare tube, but no tire. Same goes for Jeremy and Ryan. Another group of riders slows down when they see us, asking if we're okay. These are the same riders we passed climbing up Schooley's Mountain a few hours before. With all my bad luck thus far, a stroke of good luck. One of the riders has a new tire that he graciously gives to me. Without it, my day would likely be over. 

I finally assemble both the new tire and tube onto the wheel rim. Now, time to inflate with one of my CO2 cartridges. The tire inflates and seems ready to go. I put it back onto the front fork and secure it. Slowly, we resume our descent. But, now I feel (and hear) my tire rubbing against my brake calipers. The noise is a pronounced thud with every revolution of the wheel. I stop again and inspect the tire. Sure enough, there's a small bubble in the tire right near the valve stem. 

Off the bike I go. I deflate the tube then readjust the tire, making sure it sits smoothly along the rim. I use my last CO2 to re-inflate the tire. "This better be it," I thought to myself. It wasn't.

My confidence and speed slowly increase the farther I travel. Once I feel my tire is okay, I turn my attention back to actually riding. 

Twenty-five minutes or so pass and my rear tire seems low. I look down. It's low. I dismount my bike, push down on the tire with my thumb. Sure enough, the tire is losing pressure. There's only one conclusion at this point, I need to change out the rear tube. 

Thankfully it's just the tube, but my motivation is almost entirely gone. I feel deflated, like I'm in a fight and this flat is the knock out punch. In my head I contemplate dropping out. I even say out loud, "I feel like just bagging it." Thanks to an extra CO2 from Ryan and spare tube (and extra assistance) from Jeremy, I fix the wheel. My hands are now covered in chain grease. Some even found its way onto my legs. I didn't really care how I looked though. I'm able to carry on.

We resume riding. The thing pulling me out of my abyss of doubt is knowing I'll see a few friendly faces (my parents) at the top of the upcoming climb up Schooley's Mountain in a few miles. Once again, I attack the climb. Not wanting to break the perfect rhythm produced by each pedal stroke, I focus on maintaining it. I once again leap-frog the group of four riders we must've passed three times by now. Each time, falling back behind them again after something happens. I hope this will be the final pass. I beat everyone up the climb.

****

The taste of sweet potato is blistful. After a few short bursts out of the saddle to make it up the climb, I saw my Dad's pick-up truck parked on the side of the road at the crest of the hill. Waiting for me in the cooler and bag of goodies is a warm sweet potato in tin foil. I grab for the jar of almond butter and dig myself a heaping scoop. Once again, I scoop of handful of coconut flakes and cashews from the zip lock bag tucked away in my cycling jersey pocket. The pit stock couldn't come at a better time.

Back in my hometown of Long Valley, I draw energy from the familiar roads and landmarks. We pass the historic General Store and the little white house immediately adjacent to it. The sight of both brings back memories of when my family lived there. I wonder if the General Store still sells penny candy, a treat my brother and I probably consumed far too often. Immediately after passing both, we turn right at the wood-carved eagle on the corner of Flocktown Road. I remember back to when the eagle was just a regular, old tree. 

The descent down Schooley's Mountain is fast and fun. I know every turn coming down Naughright Road from driving it on an almost daily basis. It's an entirely different sensation going down the mountain on a bike though. After seriously contemplating dropping out of the ride just a couple hours ago, I'm glad I didn't. This is why I didn't. The adrenaline rush of this is well worth it. 

****

Lightning strikes again. It isn't me this time, but one of my fellow riders. After the descent down the mountain, the course turns onto a slightly rolling West Mill Road. The cue sheet tells us we'll be on this road for several miles until we get to the next town over, Califon. I figure it's a good opportunity to put my head down and get a few solid intervals in. I pass through a really rough stretch of road. The potholes are like landmines. Once you avoid one, your attention immediately shifts to avoiding the next. "I don't remember this road being so bad," I thought to myself.

I glance back and don't see Ryan and Jeremy. I slow up for several minutes. Nothing. I get nervous. "I hope nothing happened." I stop off on the side of the road and hop off my bike. I call Jeremy. The news isn't good.

Ryan couldn't avoid one of the landmines. On one of the slight downhills he hit a pothole, catapulting him off his bike. "He cracked his helmet and is feeling pretty out of it," Jeremy tells me. "He wants to continue, but I don't think that's a good idea. I'm sure he has a concussion." 

Ryan and Jeremy drop out. Thankfully, this all happened in Long Valley, just a short drive away from my parents house. They graciously pick the two of them up to drive them back to Princeton, since they plan to drive there anyway to meet me at the finish.

I feel conflicting emotions as I continue on solo. My mind drifts off thinking about Ryan's crash, hoping it wasn't too serious and that he'll be okay. Was I somehow to blame because I pushed too hard a pace? As each negative, distracting thought pops into my head, I try to park it somewhere else. I have a solid 60 or so miles left, and I need to focus. This isn't going to be a walk in the park. 

At the same time, I did feel somewhat liberated. I do almost all of my training alone. The isolation is empowering to me. I'm hoping to feed off that mentality the rest of the way. It's now 10 miles to the final rest stop. That's my goal. I don't think about the 40 or so miles after this last opportunity to throw down a few handfuls of real food. 

I make the left turn into the park entrance and coast down a small downhill to the parking area. I notice a few familiar faces waiting to greet me. Before going back to Princeton, my parents, Jeremy, and Ryan welcomed me as I dismounted my bike, hopefully for the final time before the finish. I'm in heaven. I take heaping scoops of almond butter and plop them onto each bite of a banana. I eat more coconut. I grab a handful of individually wrapped pieces of 85% dark chocolate and put them into a ziplock bag, the one that was once filled with nuts and coconut. This is my treat at the end. I stash another banana in my jersey pocket just in case. I contemplate handing off my high-viz reflective vest to my parents because it's taking up valuable room in my pocket. I think twice and keep it just to be safe. The goal is to arrive in Princeton before dark, but my watch reads 5:45PM. That's going to be a tall order. It's doable, but I'd bet on it only on fresher legs.

Sitting on a bench, I struggle to muster the energy to continue. What's the point? My two buddies are out of the ride. All I can think about is how nice it would be to sit here in the sun and continue to stuff my face with food. I've burned well over 10,000 calories by this point. "If I can't make it up this hill, I'm coming back," I joked. The small incline was maybe 25 feet.

I say goodbye to everyone and get back on my bike. I'm ready to go. I feel a renewed sense of urgency and energy. I take it slow down the final big descent to avoid all the potholes. They seemingly fill the entire road. Some patches don't have a clear path anywhere. I ease to a gentle roll through those stretches. 

The final miles are a net downhill. In my head I think I've done all the hard work already. Almost all of the more than 10,000 feet of climbing are behind me. I finally hit some decent road surface, and traffic is almost non-existent. I put my head down, tuck into my aero position, and hammer away. I sense a car slowly moving at my pace. I glance back. It's my parents following me. Before parting ways not too long ago, they said they would follow me for a few miles just to make sure I made it safely through the final rough patches of road. Having a car following me for a few minutes is reassuring. 

Not too long into their following me, they slowly pass me and speed off into the distance. They are going to drop off Ryan and Jeremy. I'm alone again. But this time my head is in a much different place than a couple hours ago. I feel as though I'm just a few miles into the ride, rather than 150. I'm also motivated by the fear of darkness. "I really don't want to ride in the dark again," I thought to myself. Just before leaving the last rest stop, while we were talking about the potential to be finishing in the dark, someone made a comment that I will be riding in the dark when I finish.

Challenge accepted.

It's a very simple mental game. I don't know how many times I've used it before. Our brains our hardwired this way. When someone tells you that you can't do something. You want it even more. Whoever made the comment unknowingly lit a fire under me. It sounds simple, but it's the motivation I draw from for the last 40 miles. 

I ride some of my best miles over that final stretch. The pain in my right knee is getting more apparent. Every pedal stroke it shoots out. It doesn't phase me too much. In fact, some part of me yearns for it. People talk a lot about a runner's high. The rush of endorphins that happens during running, generally after long bouts of chronic, repetitive movement. There's a slight pain aspect as well. I feel that. I feel myself in this euphoric state of flow.

I near the end of my cue sheet so I know I'm getting close. I didn't reach my goal of making it back before dark, but that's okay. Off by only 30 minutes or so. I round a turn and realize I'm just a few hundred meters to the finish. "Holy shit," I say to myself out loud. I enter the same parking lot I left 16 hours and 20 minutes earlier that same day, good for 7th place.

Slowing down, I pump my fist in the air one hard, single time as if to capture everything - everything - that happened over the past 36 hours and say, "you couldn't break me!!"

Bring on the rain. 

Are you spending time on the things you care about?

A couple months ago I gave a short presentation to my co-workers on self-management. I chose the topic from a grouping of traits associated with "Level 5 Leadership," a concept articulated by Jim Collins in his book Good to Great. 

It was a bit challenging at first to try and wrap my head around the concept. There are countless strategies and habits I've developed to perform better, be more productive and optimize my health and well-being (I use this term in its broadest sense: physical, mental and spiritual). In my presentation I called this "managing your holistic self." Many of us don't really take the time to think about how we go about our day-to-day life. In a sense, we're often on autopilot. We eat a bowl of cereal for breakfast because, well, that's what we've always done. Habit loops are formed (this is another story, and the topic of a future posting). They generally persist if we don't consciously alter them.

But, I want to step back. For me, this concept of "self-management" has everything to do with time. If there is one constant to think about, it's that we'll always have 24 hours in a day. No more, no less. And this is where our management skills come in. If I only have a certain amount of time in a day, how do I want to be spending those hours? There are endless possibilities for how you can divide up the pie to spend more or less time on certain aspects of your life, whether sleeping, eating, working, your hobbies, relationships, exercising/training, and on and on. Everyday, can be thought of as a series of trade-offs.

 
The question then becomes how? How am I currently spending my time and how do I want to be spending my time? The answer to these questions lies in your priorities. What's important and am I allocating the time, energy, attention and passion to those things that I want to be.

Thanks to his interview on the Bulletproof Executive podcast a while back, I came across the leadership work of Stew Friedman from the University of Pennsylvania. He developed a program called Total Leadership, but I found one tool particularly valuable. It really gets to the crux of this question: "are you spending time on the things you care about?"

It's call the Four Way View. Here's how it works:

1. Think about your daily life in terms of four major buckets: work/career; home/family; community/society; and self. 

2. Allocate a percentage to each of these four buckets to total 100% based on their level of importance in your life. How important is work? How important is family? etc. The total for each category should add to 100. 

3. Now think about your daily life and how much you focus on each of these same four categories. Allocate the same 100% into the same four buckets.

4. Rank each of the four categories on a scale of 1-10 (1=not at all; 10=fully) in terms of your satisfaction with that aspect of your life.

5. Do the same thing in terms of how well you believe you are performing (1=poorly; 10=excellent) in that category.

And now it's time to repeat the question: Are you spending time on the things you care about?