Ramblings on Clarity

You know what I miss? The clarity I once had that gave me the perspective to embrace the vision of my life's direction. I've found myself removed from my element as of late, as have I found myself being dragged into the whirlpool of stagnation modern societal life fosters. I've long since grown weary of the childish mental games people play. Indirection and deceit, insinuation and perfidy as well as double-talk and affectation are plagues of human interaction that persist, in my humble opinion, due largely to a distinct and widespread lack of perspective. Most people are so caught up with what is 12" in front of their faces that few ever take the time to step back and philosophize introspectively. Ask someone, anyone, what the five most important things to them in life are, and be shocked if they can provide more than two. They don't know what's truly important to them because they've never taken the time to think about it. I'd say that's a pretty critical thing to know, wouldn't you? Time doesn't pause while you concern yourself with the inconsequential opinions of others.

My current state of existence is what inspired the introspection I've translated over time into this essay. The last six months of my life have been, shall we say, less than productive, for reasons running the gamut. Initiated by a substantial failure then reinforced by setback due to injury, my collapse into idleness gained momentum as I fell prey to the lure of short-sightedness. I've found myself struggling to be direct and decisive, unable to find the perspective to pull myself out of the whirlpool of stagnation. For me, perspective has always been clarified by mental and physical stress in the extreme. I remember, clearly, the dynamic of exertion to exhaustion and the purifying emotional effect it produces. I remember, clearly, the oft-acute trial of running ultra distances through the high mountains. I remember how it felt. I remember, clearly, my feet burning as if on fire. My legs battered to painfully twisted knots. My heart pounding in my head like a hammer. The sweat pooling on the ground beneath me. I remember, clearly, the stifling fatigue so draining I couldn't see straight. The daunting prospect of many an unforgiving mile yet to run. The blood tainting the rocks and dirt as I find myself buckled to my hands and knees on the trail, attempting not to collapse completely. It's then that I look inward for direction. It's then that I think.

It's then that I remember. Enduring a task so formidable, so taxing, has a way of purging the extraneous and insignificant. I wouldn't quite call it healing; just reinvigorating, in a way. I remember why I'm there. I remember that practically no one else could hope to attempt the task I'd undertaken. I remember that practically no one else would want to. I stand back to my feet and breathe deeply, gazing into the valley far below. I remember why I push so hard, why I suffer, and why I come back time and time again. With life simplified to its most basic elements, I remember that ultimately, the petty emotions, the sophomoric drama and the pain, both physical and emotional, don't matter. Completion of the task at hand is simply a function of effort and time. Completing the task at hand becomes the only thing that matters. I remember that this is what I do. What I was meant to do. And that I'm rather good at it. A confidence and defiant pride the scale of which I cannot describe to you wells up from deep within me. My direction is no longer lost, but visibly defined and emphatically clear. My disposition is no longer shaky, but steadfastly anchored. My expression no longer pained, but defiantly sincere. A grin spreads across my face as I re-embrace the clarity that drives me with passion to be a cut above the rest. I remember how to get there. Brushing away the rocks and rubbing off the dirt, I start off down the trail with irrepressible conviction. Life will not be wasted this day.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep.
And miles to go before I sleep...
Miles to go before I sleep.

As far as I can tell, existence is an exercise in perspective. It is asinine to argue the fact that life should emphasize quality, not quantity. A life of only a few rich, purposeful decades full of depth and passionate experiences is far superior to a life of 500 hurried, meaningless or wasted years. The more you rush through the motions in an attempt to keep up with the frantic flow of society, the less attention you pay to the elements of life that matter. The more time you squander to the frivolous trends of the moment, the fewer grains of sand you find yourself left with when you finally stop to examine your life's fragile hourglass. Clarity is a product of tranquility and uncluttered introspection. The perspective it gives you is vital to a life spent well. I will once again find clarity and I invite you to join me. Your method may vary.

FITNESS: Part II

FOR ATHLETES.

The meat of fitness: The mental of the physical.

This article is for the journeyman, who has achieved progress and opened his mind. Who comprehends the importance of improvement, and has an understanding of the dynamics of progress. Fitness is no longer an arbitrary term to you. You truly grasp its meaning, and truly understand its value. Your reputation has been established, and your curiosity has been unleashed. Perhaps you've run a marathon or even completed your first half-Ironman. But far more important than any physical benchmark is the perceptual transition of your mind. Words like commitment and discipline mean something to you--a lot to you, and your physical prowess commands respect. You are fast becoming an expert in your field, as you train your knowledge along with your body. On command you can provide your lactate threshold and your average sweat rate for a given temperature range. The steady decrease in your resting heart-rate is a source of steady increase in your pride. You've felt it, at times--the empowering sense of mental superiority combined with boundless physical energy. You've relished the grin-inducing compulsion to explode into action, for no apparent reason whatsoever. The novel and stark contrast of walking weightlessly now is fresh and exciting to you. You feel your potential growing inside of you, crying to be fed, to be used, for more. You've broken free from the chains of mediocrity, and transcended above the swamp of stagnation.

You're here because you put the time in. Because you studied the practical definition of the word 'discipline,' and executed in its spirit the commitment to progress with heart and relentless efficiency. You don't need someone to explain to you the importance of a healthy diet. You don't need help getting out of bed in the morning. Your training plan is written and comprehensive. Your progress, by now, even predictable. Your results are your reward and your improvement is your motivation. The fire inside you flared hotter than the sun the first time you realized what this higher level of fitness could provide you. You walk with your head held high and look around with piercingly confident eyes as you ride the rising tide of your accomplishments. You cut your teeth in subsequently tougher challenges as you search for the answers to questions you finally summoned the courage to ask. You've paid your dues and earned your place with gallons of sweat, buckets of blood, and pools of tears. With torrents of pain, of exhaustion and despair. You've come to realize that training your body is the easy part--it's the mind that proves most stubborn. You understand that your greatest victories have been over yourself, and because of this your growth continues and your strength compounds.

But something's missing. You've come this far, and spent your share of time basking in the limits of this glory. You want to feel as if you're on top of the world, but your exposure to the higher tiers of physical fitness and mental capacity make you realize how much farther you can go. You ache for more. You've seen your superiors in action, and been inspired by their example. Their standard is a demanding one, but you are intuitively drawn to it nonetheless. You've heard the call and felt the pull, though subtly at first. Perhaps one Monday morning you stopped rationalizing the weekend's lack of discipline as "recovery" and woke up disgusted with yourself; in part for the opportunity lost but mainly for your lapse in honesty. Excuses are shameful and unacceptable to the committed, and now you're feeling a swelling guilt that shudders and strains until it evolves into unholy motivation. As ugly as it feels, in the back of your mind you subconsciously recognize that it brings you closer to the company of the elite. Because you recognize that at this level it's mindset that separates the good athletes from the great. But there's a chasm of a gap between where you are and where they are. You wonder if you have what it takes to follow in their footsteps.

Your skull reverberates with the nagging doubt of uncertainty: Am I strong enough? Am I mature enough? It this enough? Have I reached my limit? The answers you know, but are suppressed by your subconscious mind. Ultimately this self-trial is necessary, and it may not be skipped or omitted. So the interrogation continues… How committed am I? Is it worth it? Why me? Why not? You long for a catalyst; some inspiring sign to convince you the endeavor is worthwhile. A day passes. And another. You continue training, but begin to feel the sour taste of stagnation contaminating every hard swallow. You've flirted with existence absent limits, and hunger for it again…for good. You've felt the awesome power of invulnerability, for moments, and know how to get there again. You've seen the insurmountable attitudes of those living how you dream, and stood in awe of their unshakable confidence and unlimited leveled ferocity. They operate in a world removed from yours, seeing life through a different lens. You've caught glimpses in your travels--snapshots seared into memory as relative constructs of the existence you desire. Your conviction becomes solidified--your passion beyond reproach. You're done with the crowded middle-ground; you know you want more. You want in.

But you're intimidated by the hours, the miles, the stress, the pain. The time it will take and the effort it will demand. The full scale of what it will take to progress a level further. You're proud of how far you've come, but apprehensive about how far you'll go. By now you've learned that nothing worthwhile comes easy, and that the effort required usually matches the magnitude of the ultimate reward. Well it's time. Time to commit. Time to silence the self-limiting internal debate. There are no limits where you're going, just as there are no limits to what you'll do to get there. Only once the mental fog has cleared will the correct path become apparent. You are doubtless aware that the most important quality of physical strength is a high power-to-weight ratio. Perhaps you just needed someone to reveal that it's also the most important mental one. The power and capability of your mind is limitless--only burdened and restrained by the weight of self-doubt and second-guessing. Belief is freedom, and freedom is untouchable. Believe in your ability and the heavy lifting will be done. Believe the goal is worthwhile, and all obstacles will crumble to dust. With doubt's demise the barriers give way. Now you have options.

You stand at the threshold, looking forward at the step above. The world keeps turning, but you don't feel it move. You feel the back-breaking burden of the weight you have carried thus far. You see the dwarfing mass of the weight you will be forced to carry yet: The ruthless price of admission to the club you long to join. No comforting reassurance awaits you, no outstretched hand to help you up. You have doubtless progressed thus far with the assistance and wisdom of others, but this step you must take alone. The road you've traveled to this point in existence is long, yet somehow the one before you seems longer. The hunger is there, but honest introspection is harsh. The road seems endless, and the weight almost impossible to bear. The precipice is crossed only once you realize that it truly doesn't matter. Once you realize, with clarity beyond doubt, that it never did.

COMING SOON: Fitness: Part 3 - For Advanced Users

FITNESS: Part I

FOR BEGINNERS.

The basics of fitness: What it is, and what it isn't.

How far can you run? What's your average wattage on the bike? For what distance? Not much into cycling? Okay, how fast can you swim? What do you mean you can't swim? How much weight can you bench press? How many push-ups can you do? How many sit-ups can you do? How many pull-ups? Who cares?

The facts of fitness are few, and the myths readily abound. What exactly is fitness, and how do you know when you've got it? Should you try to find the definition of fitness you will be sorely disappointed. Random House dictionary vaguely defines it as the "capability of the body of distributing inhaled oxygen to muscle tissue during increased physical effort." Clearly this refers to cardiovascular or cardiorespitory efficiency, long agreed upon to be the determining factor in human physical capacity, but nowhere does Random House or any other authority specify the exact criteria which must be met to proclaim a person as being 'fit.' As such it is subject to the corruption of interpretation and the fallacy of personal opinion.

Whatever it is, its hard to argue with the fact that fitness is important. It makes our minds and bodies stronger and healthier, it extends our lifespan and improves our quality of life. It increases capacity thereby decreasing limitations, and forces us to make positive life choices. It opens doors and crushes doubt, instilling confidence and radiant optimism. All well and good, but how does one obtain it? How much fitness is "enough?" My personal definition of fitness is far more expansive and decidedly more precise, however mine is heavily biased; extreme endurance athletes tend to have a drastically different view of fitness than the average 'weekend warrior.' As much emphasis and importance as we place on it, we tend to look at fitness as little more than a tool. It is for sure the biggest, shineyest, most important and useful tool in the toolbox, but put in the simplest of terms it is a tangible means for the worldly execution of our will--a physical enabler and expresser of our mental power and ability. An Ironman triathlon, to us, for example, is not about the individual acts of swimming, biking or running long distance. It is about the challenge in its entirety; the completion of a task so formidable to the human body it was once thought impossible. Capacity is the bottom line for us--full stop, end of story. It's about the physical and mental power to exert our wills through any circumstance, and to move farther, faster and do more work without need for, or in lieu of, mechanical help. For me, it's not so much about how far I can swim or exactly how many miles I can run. I want to be unlimited by task or terrain, climate or condition. I am not here to just go through the motions, and I am not working to be average. Yes I did Ironman, twice, but like most my body was shattered at its completion. A good start, but ultimately I want to be able to cross that finish line, then go get a real workout in a couple hours later.

People who approach fitness as a way to "remain healthy" or "stay in shape" typically view it almost as a chore--a stop-gap measure employed to prevent frequent doctor visits or to avoid "letting themselves go." This is akin to putting just enough gas in the 5 gallon tank of your scooter to go only as far as your destination, at which point you repeat the same practice all over again, and so on throughout life. It will get you around town, but don't expect to be winning any drag races or taking any road trips. I'll stick with this analogy to hammer some sense home. The healthier you eat, the more gas you fill in your tank. The longer you train, the bigger that tank gets. The harder you train, the more powerful a vehicle you upgrade to. So instead of limping around town in your scooter (going through the motions 2-3 times per week and giving lip-service to a healthy diet), why not tour the entire countryside in a car with a hundred gallon gas tank and the engine of a ferrari? Alright so maybe that's a little excessive for most, but even a blind man can see the merit to increased physical capacity. Unfortunately, the knowledge required to build and develop this true and functional fitness is hidden and buried in obscure fringe sporting arenas mostly removed from mainstream attention.

True fitness is almost never present in the underwear models you drool over in magazines. If you're looking for physique, a simple combination of eating healthy, weightlifting 90 minutes per week and hopping on one of those "spinner" bikes for a couple hours per week will give you a body you won't be self-conscious about at the beach. Just keep your distance however, because you'll be crying for your mother the moment a true fitness challenge is laid at your feet. You will find plenty of solace though, as you will certainly be in the vast and comfortable majority. A visit to any typical public gym offers an idea of what modern society thinks it means to be fit; magazines and newspapers are read while dancing around on ellipticals or half-assedly turning the pedals on spin-cycles, weights are lifted by isolated muscles, often in a seated and supported position, intensity is distinctly lacking, and "aerobics" classes are nothing more than jumping jacks set to music. Sadly, modern fitness is defined by appearance rather than actual horsepower. A training program contaminated by this attitude cannot produce superior fitness, physical or mental. If you're reading "fitness" magazines you picked up at GNC, stop. If you're using a program you saw on "Fit TV," stop. If you're still following the instructions of your high-school Phys. Ed. coach, how in the hell did you get to my webpage...?

Primarily this blog is for individuals who are motivated to excel. Seeking, by definition, way more than enough and far better than average. For individuals driven, as a rule, to outperform and committed to pursue the elite. I do try, however, as much as I can to impart useful and pertinent lessons comprehensible to those hungry with vision though lacking experience. I was not always an extreme athlete, and I can still recall the imposing confusion of just starting out. I receive just as much joy from watching a green and wide-eyed but motivated athlete realize that he can do more than he thought as I do from watching a steely-eyed veteran do impossibly more than anyone thought. It is important to point out here, however, that depth of fitness is always goal-specific. Many a time after being pressed to provide a glimpse into my training schedule has the presser proclaimed, "Wow, you must be in ridiculous shape!" Perhaps, but in relation to what? Compared to the average joe, sure, I'm a motherfucking stud. Compared to a Navy SEAL however, I'm a small child at kindergarten recess. Relativity is the reality here. Obviously elite physical and mental fitness are of paramount importance to me, as a result of the way in which I perceive and approach life. And while I strongly endorse the merits of discipline and physical hardship, I am not so blindly conceited to say my way is the only. So I'm not going to tell you that you need to be a competitive triathlete, a marathon runner or a fire-breathing CrossFitter in order to lay claim to being "physically fit." I dare go out on a limb to play the odds however, and submit that you need to be doing a whole lot more than at present. What's the secret, you ask? Simple: Stop paying attention to the marketing hype and approach fitness for what it really is.

Fitness is an ideal. It is a lifestyle, not necessarily a measurable outcome. What constitutes a "fit" individual is largely dependent on the goal of the individual and is specific to his/her expectations. Fitness, therefore, is not a tangible goal per se, rather it is the byproduct of setting and achieving such progress-related goals in individual athletic disciplines. Usually fitness serves a purpose. It is a means to an end, and as such every individual must ask themselves what they want or need to be fit for. Playing professional soccer, running a marathon and competing in an adventure race all require different kinds and levels of physical fitness. Decide how far you want to go, then set a challenge or goal worthy of that level of fitness. Design or borrow a training plan and commit to make it happen. If you don't have a specific goal I am an avid proponent of generalized fitness, which is to say well-roundedness. Don't just push weights around a gym and pseudo-ski on an elliptical--cross-train with a purpose. Do bodyweight exercises. Go running. If you don't own a bike, buy one--I bet you'll enjoy it. Don't know how to swim (doggy-paddle doesn't count)? Take lessons. They're not that expensive and I bet you'll pick it up a lot faster than you think. I challenge you to commit to a month of sincere physical training. If you are not satisfied with your results, I will compensate you for every penny you spent on your endeavor. Fitness doesn't come easy, but it is absolutely worth it. And you know it.

Now drop and give me twenty.

"The only place where success comes before work is in the dictionary." -Mark Twain

COMING SOON: Fitness Part 2 - For Athletes

Remembering 9/11: Why We Fight

It seemed fitting to me, that on this day, the 9th anniversary of the September 11 terrorist attacks I should write a different kind of essay. Few will read this and fewer will fully understand, but the main purpose of my writings is not for others to read. Recently though, an individual who had just finished reading my book, Build to Break, made an interesting comment that sparked a bit of thought. This individual, after complimenting me on my efforts and praising my book, proceeded with the following caveat: "...but man, you need to chill out some." Chill out some. Really? Without elaboration, I was left to ponder the possible meanings of this statement. If that's the impression my book gives off, I thought, then I failed somewhere along the way as a writer. I realized, in retrospect, that while my book covers in relative depth how I am, it never adequately explains why. Since that is a subject the content of which could fill a dozen more books, I will simply address the particular facet of my personality the aforementioned comment seems to reference: My intensity.

Put simply, I am intense because I need to be. Apparently some people hold a convoluted notion that intensity is some kind of hyperactive disorder or a quality of the excessively somber. In my case at least, this could not be farther from the truth. I believe my 'intensity' is an invaluable asset; a product of my passions and a reflection of the way I choose to live life. It is also a virtual prerequisite of the career and life path I intend to take. It is my opinion that most Americans are idealists. In my view, this is a good thing. Idealists however, tend to look upon those of us with a more realistic point of view as cynical pessimists who focus only on the negative. Again, this simply is not the case. I can certainly look at the greener side of the fence, but unlike others I cannot ignore the charred earth on the other side.

The world for many people is a frightful, brutal, unforgiving place. We are fortunate enough to have been born into this free nation, which is mostly removed from that brutality. We have been given freedom, opportunity and an escape from fear. Here I sit, on a beautiful Saturday morning in a quiet, virtually crime and violence-free suburb of our nation's capital. We are all free to live our lives as we wish, and we are given the gift of opportunity--to better ourselves in whatever manner we choose, with the promise that we will never be forced to remain a certain way, or in a certain social status. We are being actively shielded from the horrors affecting much of the world, so that we may carry out our lives almost completely free from fear. I like to refer to our luxurious standard of living as the 'bubble.' Since most of us have little or no experience of the world outside our bubble, it is easy to forget or ignore the violence that plagues our planet and is destroying billions of lives of people less fortunate than ourselves. In effect, this 'bubble' becomes our world, and as a result it becomes difficult to imagine living any other way. I am personally extremely grateful I was born into this great country, and I am damned proud to be an American. I want to give back, the best way I know how and in a way that best suits my interests and goals. I don't want to take my freedom for granted one more day. And I believe my intensity is the key to letting me do exactly that. The explanation of all this is going to require a poignant example, and I can think of no more appropriate analogy to use to tie together these topics than the events of 9/11/01.

My eyes still well with tears and I still tremble with rage as I watch video re-runs of the hijacked airplanes crashing into the Twin Towers. Of terrified people jumping from 90 stories, having given up hope and wanting to escape the inferno at their backs. Of the towers collapsing from the hellacious fires, condemning thousands of people to a horrifying death. Of the chilling sound of several hundred locator beacons filling the air with an angry chirping as they cling to the corpses of firefighters who had raced into the burning towers, now buried under 500,000 tons of rubble and twisted steel. Often I feel as though I should be getting even more emotional, more enraged than I already am, as if I am failing to respect the magnitude of what happened that day. I was a high school freshman on 9/11, so I did not fully comprehend the gravity of those attacks at the time, though I had a pretty good idea of their magnitude. On September 11, 2001 our bubble was burst, at least temporarily. We had been assaulted with a horrific kind of violence that while new to us, has plagued humanity since the dawn of civilization. The people that visited this terror upon us did so because of a fallacious hatred so intense it cannot be contained. A hate that boiled and festered in the minds of evil extremists living half the world away.

It seems to sail straight over most peoples' heads that Al Qaeda did not just attack a military target. Not a base, not an intelligence center, not just our foreign policy makers or our government. They attacked completely innocent civilians who had nothing to do with what was happening in the middle east. Men, women and even children. They did this deliberately, to emphasize their message: They were attacking US. You and me. The American way of life, standard of living, individual behavior and beliefs. People are also quick to forget that 9/11 was not an isolated event. Al Qaeda had bombed the World Trade Center earlier, in '93, then the bombing of two American embassies in '98, and the attack on the USS Cole in 2000. They have also attacked our Spanish, British and Danish allies to devastating effect, and have tried repeated failed attempts at attacking us again, most recently with the foiled Times Square car bombs--again a wholly civilian target. Men who hate us that much cannot be reasoned with and diplomacy is not even remotely an option on the table. They must be destroyed, or eviscerated enough that they lose the will to fight for their cause. Then peace can be established, and freedom maintained, but only when guarded by capable armed forces committed to its defense. People willing to die to defend freedom, and to give it to others. I am volunteering to do exactly that, and in order to win the fight against a people so evil and hateful that they would enthusiastically die just for the chance to see you suffer requires the intensity of hell itself. I am volunteering for several years of the most arduous military training in the free world, just for the opportunity to engage in what is arguably the most arduous form of warfare: Combat against evil ideas and beliefs, instead of an army. Against hate itself.

Re-read the declaration of independence some time, and this time bear in mind that it spells out every luxury and opportunity you enjoy. Bear in mind that it was written by men committed to its cause, in a time of war. That it was written in blood. The entire purpose of this country's founding was for its citizens to enjoy the freedom it provides, but we must not confuse that enjoyment with taking it for granted. Idealists are quick to point out the beauty of the world; all the magnificent and enchanting places you can travel to so as to better experience life. Indeed there are many such incredible places and I hope to visit as many of them as I can before I die. But we must not forget that we are unimaginably fortunate just to be able to consider visiting such places, and possessing the freedom and opportunity to be able to do so. We must not forget that the freedom we enjoy is not the norm, nor is even the concept of freedom itself desired universally. We must not forget the world outside our bubble, and the places where any one of you would be brutally murdered simply for being what you are: White, Christian, Jewish, female, American. Places like parts of Africa, Burma, North Korea, Mexico, Chechnya, Iran, Iraq, Pakistan and Afghanistan to name a few. Places where millions of people suffer daily in the absence of true freedom. People who would gladly give anything to live in your bubble.

I love life and I want to live the hell out of it, my way, for as long as I have on this earth. I love our country and what it stands for and I want to fight for it, but I will do so with nothing less than the most capable warriors this world has ever produced. I have no illusions of 'saving the world,' but I want to do whatever I can to combat the hatred that would see innocent people suffer. Around the clock I wear a band on my right wrist that reads "Infidel Strong," a play on the Army's slogan of "Army Strong," and a defiant spit in the face to our extremist enemies. I use it as a subtle motivator in my quest to become an elite American warrior, and if I am afforded the honor to stand in the ranks of the SEAL Teams, and given the opportunity to combat this hatred, hopefully in the middle east, I will make our enemies very dearly regret having summoned my presence on the battlefield. If I must die in this effort so be it, but rest assured--I will take as many of those bastards with me as I can. "Chill out some." Now that you know why I choose to fight, and what that fight will demand, you should understand why I respond, "No, thanks." The objective of terrorism is to alter the way a people behaves or lives: To change them by fear. We in fact give a small victory to our enemies every year by reliving the terrorist attacks every anniversary of 9/11. Unfortunately we have to, because we must never forget the victims of that horrible day and the scarred families and friends still grieving for their losses.

We fight because we have to, in order to protect our way of life. To abandon our search for Bin Laden and our fight against Al Qaeda would be to give them victory by surrender. A victory, for the memories of the nearly 3,000 Americans who died on 9/11, they must never enjoy. These men will not stop, so neither can we. We must hunt down terrorists across the globe and purge them from our world, and we must do everything in our power to extend the comfort of our bubble to those people raped by senseless violence and unjust war. Ideally warfare would not be necessary, as it is a brutal and ugly thing that causes a great deal of pain and suffering. Realistically, the evil violence of our enemies such as extremist terror groups can only be stopped with a just violence more effectively employed. I choose to join in this battle because I believe I am physically and mentally prepared to do so. I will fight to defend the free and liberate the oppressed. And I will fight so that hopefully, others won't have to. And I plan to do it with nothing less than an intensity that is beyond measure.

2009: A Year in Review

Looking back, 2009 was an action-packed year for me, full of ups and downs and punctuated mostly by success, but also by educational failure. Another progressive chapter in my life as an athlete and my quest to become an elite warrior has been written with copious amounts of my blood, sweat and tears. In this post I will take a moment to look back on a year of hard work by listing a sort of resume of the events I competed in, followed by a brief bullet-list of a few of my most memorable moments. I write this as a reference; a platform from which to build upon as I look forward to my most intense year yet in 2010.

Triathlon:

Smithfield Sprint -- 4th place division, 14th place overall | Time = 0:53:08
Rumpus in Bumpass Olympic -- 2nd place division, 31st place overall | Time = 2:18:31
St. Croix Ironman 70.3 -- 6th place division, 174th overall | Time = 5:32:07
Kinetic Half-Iron -- 7th place division, 42nd overall | Time = 5:07:45
Ironman 70.3 Eagleman -- 10th place division, 286th overall | Time = 4:57:48
Ironman 70.3 Buffalo Springs Lake -- 10th place division, 202nd overall | Time = 5:23:42
Ironman 70.3 Rhode Island -- 19th place division, 277th overall | Time = 5:00:16
Ironman Arizona -- 18th place division, 867th overall | Time = 11:57:20

Running:

Holiday Lake 50K Ultramarathon -- Time = 6:07
Odyssey Mill Mountain Challenge 8-hour Orienteering Race -- 4th place in 2-person division, 20th place overall
Bel Monte 50M Ultramarathon -- Time = 12:23
Dorchester Half-Marathon -- 1st place division, 3rd place overall, Time = 1:26
Maryland Half-Marathon -- Time = 1:38
Grindstone 100M Ultramarathon -- DNF, Time = ~30:00 at mile 80
Marine Corps Marathon -- Time = 3:57

Most memorable moments in terms of...

Glory: Feeling like the terminator running down 3rd place overall at Dorchester Half-Marathon.
Frustration: Petering out to a mediocre run at Eagleman 70.3.
Pride: Finishing the Bel Monte 50-miler.
Pain: The marathon at the end of Ironman Arizona. 'Nuff said.
Grit: Running a 6:10 closing mile in the half-marathon at the end of St. Croix 70.3.
Motivation: Getting amped out of my mind as I watched a huge lightning storm erupt across the night sky while gale-force winds blew trees sideways before the start of Buffalo Springs Lake 70.3.
Disappointment: DNFing at Grindstone 100.

Swim: The rough ocean swim at Rhode Island 70.3. A ferocious wind-storm blew in to kick up some crazy waves and currents on the 1.2 mile swim course.
Bike: A tie between crushing the hilly 56 mile bike course in Rhode Island and the final third of the bike at Ironman Arizona, where I rocketed through the epic desert landscape at an average of 30mph.
Run: Grindstone 100. I mean really. Come on.
Race course: A tie between Ironman Arizona and St. Croix 70.3.

Statistics:

Running: Average 40 miles per week | Peak 60 miles per week
Biking: Average 150 miles per week | Peak 240 miles per week
Swimming: Average 7 miles per week | Peak 13 miles per week
Rock Climbing (until September): Average 6 hours per week | Peak 10 hours per week
Pushups: Average 900 per week | Peak 2,100 per week
Situps: Average 700 per week | Peak 2,400 per week
Pullups: Average 200 per week | Peak 450 per week

Hottest Temperature I Trained In: 109*F
Coldest Temperature I Trained In: -30*F
Number of States I Trained In: 7
Number of Countries I Trained In: 2
Number of Major Injuries I Sustained: 4

While this list may be my resume, it is far from my legacy for 2009. The adventures and experiences I had training for these events dwarf the time invested in the events themselves. From grueling soft-sand runs at the beach to hanging by my fingertips thirty feet up a rock wall, from 100-mile bike rides in 100 degree heat to long-distance backpacking in sub-zero temperatures, I have pushed myself to the limit in every arena I could find and absolutely loved every single minute of it. I have become stronger, faster, harder and tougher, and I have gained invaluable knowledge available only to the experienced. I look forward to taking 2010 to another level, along with my fitness and accomplishments. My new year's resolution is to blow this review out of the water and reset the bar a whole hell of a lot higher. Mark my words: This is just the beginning.

"While most are dreaming of success, winners wake up and work hard to achieve it."

SUFFERING

It's that time again. Time for an essay the subject of which is extremely important, so I want you to turn off the I-tunes, the TV and grant your cell phone some mercy by refraining from pounding out 1,000 meaningless words a minute and give me your undivided attention. I have touched upon this subject in several of my previous posts, but wish to expand upon it here in detail. Please bear in mind that I am not learning anything from writing what I already know--this is solely for your benefit. Yes, you; the one shifting around in your chair to find the most comfortable position. It's time for a reality check, and for a lesson on one of the most important, useful and empowering skills a human being can possess. The ability to endure.

Suffering. You probably just flinched. Did you get a little uneasy when you first read the title of this essay? It is a powerful word, if only because of the negative psychological connotation it carries with it. When most people think of suffering, they think of pain, misery, stress and exhaustion. Rightly so. However it is also an opportunity: An opportunity to expand your capacity far beyond what any diet, pill, exercise or drug possibly ever could. An opportunity to clarify true limits and rewrite what is possible. The ability to withstand physical pain and emotional misery is a hard-learned skill available only to the brave and committed. Before diving into what this ability can do for you some clarification is in order, as most people seem to lack a basic understanding of what pain is and how it works. One must understand his adversary before he is able to defeat it. Pain does not force you to stop--it only tries to convince you to do so. If you can shift your focus to anything aside from your suffering you will find that you are able to endure far more than you thought. But the minute you start to feel sorry for yourself, you hand the victory to your pain. When enduring prolonged misery one must always be the aggressor--you must be the one in charge, calling the shots and in control of your immediate circumstance. You can never be at the mercy of the conditions--becoming a victim never did anyone any good. Flexibility and adaptability, both physical and emotional, are key to maintaining your ability to exert your will during hardship. Developing these traits requires a commitment to hard work and a willingness to explore pain. After all, you must suffer if you want to suffer well. Practice makes perfect.

Still shifting around in your chair, I see. Before you stop reading, allow me an attempt to instill in you some hope. People often fear what they don't understand. After this paragraph however, fear of the unknown will no longer be a viable excuse. Now un-contort your face and stay with me while I explain. I occasionally wear a shirt I got at Ironman on the back of which reads: "Pain is only a state of mind". While this is a pretty catchy phrase, it's slightly misleading. In reality, pain is actually a fabrication of the mind. This may be difficult to swallow, but the truth of the matter is that pain is not physically real. It is not tangible, and does not exist as a quantifiable force in our physical universe. Instead, pain is a function of the 'central governor' part of the brain. Its purpose is to illicit an intense response to damage and/or trauma occurring to the body and prompt immediate action to rectify, stop or flee from the cause of it. In layman's terms, what this means is that when you touch a hot burner on a stove, the heat from the burner and the damage it does to your hand does not cause the pain directly. Instead, it prompts your brain to cause the pain in order to give you a very strong compulsion to pull your hand away from the damage-causing stove burner, quick, fast and in a hurry. Suffering is the prolonged exposure to some or many types of pain, and the sensations you feel as a result are often purposefully specific. For example, if you have been training or racing hard for many hours out in the burning hot sun on a 90+ degree day, you will eventually tap into your brain's millennium-old survival mode. The conditions will have unavoidably caused you to become dehydrated in addition to raising your core temperature, pushing you closer and closer to heat exhaustion. Your brain will afflict you with an overpowering sense of thirst and an extremely powerful compulsion to seek out water and shade. This scenario is nothing more than a classic example of your subconscious brain taking steps to reverse a harmful and potentially even lethal chain of events in order to return your body systems to their state of optimum functionality or equilibrium. Self-preservation. That's what its all about, and its all the central governor part of your brain is concerned with. It doesn't care about your dreams, your goals, your problems or desires. It is oblivious to the circumstances surrounding the reason your body was being stressed or damaged. It doesn't care that you were in a war zone and the bullets and shrapnel flying past your head were more immediate concerns than the oppressive heat or your lack of adequate hydration. It is totally unconcerned that you were running through the heat of the day to reach a telephone to call for help because a loved one lay on a remote trail, bleeding to death due to a mountain lion attack. That is why it's called your subconscious brain; its purpose is to protect you, not please you or even be the least bit accommodating to you.

I can hear your heavy sigh and the steady drumming of your restless fingers. Rest assured, that neuro-physiological lesson was imperatively relevant and completely necessary. Because you now possess all the knowledge required to put a lid on that inconveniently annoying central governor and kick it all the way back to the stone age where it came from, some many eons ago. All it takes is focused effort and some practice, and the willingness to throw yourself into a situation you know you're not going to enjoy. Start with small steps--you have to walk before you can run. The next time you work out, do not hold back. Learn the difference between total application and just going through the motions. Between true hard work and what you've been doing. Focus completely on the task at hand. Nothing meaningful can be gained when your body is doing one thing and your mind another. Give it absolutely everything you have, moving as fast and as powerfully as possible. Avoid wasting your time taking rest breaks and absolutely above all else, DO NOT QUIT. Your fitness gains will be exponentially higher, and you will become tougher for having endured that brief period of suffering. The weight of the reward far exceeds that of the immediate cost of temporary discomfort. Pain is temporary, but pride is forever.

"Pain is constant during hard effort. This is precisely what keeps most people from pulling out all the stops – it fucking hurts. But with the right attitude and the will to suffer, this sort of pain can become easier to endure with practice. You confront it, immerse yourself in it, and become it. You survive. The next time – because you know what's coming – you are less apprehensive, which spares energy, allowing you to focus, to push harder, and perhaps to truly suffer. You don't quit. You get through it. Confidence soars. Your self-image changes, you begin to see yourself as able, capable, and newfound capacity causes ambition to evolve so you try something harder. It lasts longer. In it, you have the time to think, to look inward, which separates the 'sprint' experience from the endurance effort: self-knowledge gained during effort is more honest and clear than what one learns through analysis after the fact, which is too often corrupted by selective memory."

It's all about attitude. If you attach a negative stigma to the act of suffering, it will always beat you down. By contrast, if you associate suffering with positive ideas, such as strength in the knowledge that you are growing stronger and tougher, beating the odds, expanding your physical and mental capacities and redefining what those increasingly less intimidating 'limits' are, you will excel at enduring the pain, and greater results will inevitably and unavoidably follow. A positive and productive attitude combined with unrestrained effort are nature's unstoppable one-two punch. With these deceptively simple qualities, a fit individual can accomplish virtually any task, and endure almost anything. "The outcome of both sports competition and actual combat are decided largely by one's mental attitude. To be sure, superior firepower, whether physical or technical, is a determining factor but the 'heart' governs the application of resources, which makes spirit the most powerful force on the field. Acquiring the spirit necessary to win, which includes a positive acceptance of pain is difficult in a society where comfort is more highly regarded than capacity, where genuine physical fitness is the norm for less than 15% of the population."

Modern society values comfort and luxury as if they were the new gods of the 21st century. In today's world of climate control and feel-good marketing, discomfort and suffering are obsolete. Take a trip to your local grocery store, stocked with aisles full of pain relievers and symptom-masking drugs. Indeed, entire businesses and corporations thrive only on the predictability of the average consumer's willingness to pay almost anything to live as comfortably as possible. Think about this the next time you have a headache and you rush to the cabinet for an aspirin or whatever only to find the 48-count box already empty. Are you seriously going to waste a couple of dollars in gas and 20-30 minutes of your life to drive down to the store and shell out more of your hard-earned money on an outrageously over-priced, mass-produced drug just to temporarily relieve a temporary pain, one you know will go away all on its own in due time? If your answer is yes, than you have no hope of ever overcoming real suffering. If your answer is no, there's hope for you yet.

Far too often in challenging athletic endeavors uncommitted, self-deceiving individuals give up prematurely, telling themselves "This is impossible," "I just can't do it," or "This just isn't my day." They say it enough times they begin to believe it. In reality, they quit because they were unwilling to suffer further, not because of any physical, genetic or environmental limitation. I have said it before and I will repeat it again: Your body is capable of producing ten times the amount of work your mind thinks it can. In the world of endurance sport, "impossible" is a dirty word. Indeed, our sport fosters the belief that 'impossible' is nothing more than a word in a dictionary; ink printed on paper and stated as fact as if in a vain attempt to convince us that it is anything other than fiction. Many times in my past life have I uttered the phrases "That's not possible" and "I could never do that." Well it is and I did, many times, such that I truthfully no longer know where the upper limits really lie. I believe that to the motivated and the committed, death is the only limit. I believe that my body will cease to function long before my will to go on begins to diminish. I know that there is nothing I cannot do, no task or challenge I cannot overcome. My mind and willpower have repeatedly taken my body to levels of performance and endurance conventional wisdom would suggest it should not have been capable of. I have regularly surpassed my own self-imposed limitations and watched my confidence soar and my capacity increase as a result. 'Impossible' no longer carries any weight in my universe, and has been summarily deleted from my personal dictionary. This was all made possible primarily by my willingness and developed ability to suffer. I don't give in to the pain--the pain gives in to me.

People these days seem almost fanatically hell-bent on avoiding anything that would require them to venture outside their comfort zones. What they fail to realize is that the more they persevere through physical hardship, the larger that comfort zone becomes. The importance of the ability to adapt to one's environment cannot be overrated, and with the expansion of your boundaries comes the expansion of your options. The following is an excerpt from the book 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Dr. Stephen R. Covey, who explains the difference between reticent, circumstance-driven reactive people and assertive, performance-driven proactive individuals: "Reactive people are often affected by their physical environment. If the weather is good, they feel good. If it isn't, it affects their attitude and their performance. Proactive people can carry their own weather with them. Whether it rains or shines makes no difference to them. They are value driven; and if their value is to produce good quality work, it isn't a function of whether the weather is conducive to it or not." Attitude is everything. If you develop the ability to withstand hardship and setback, then adopt an aggressively productive attitude, you will find that hardly any circumstance or condition phases you. I personally like to think of this as a form of invincibility. The world becomes a much bigger yet more accessible place, opening the door for any number of life-enriching experiences. Stop making excuses to convince yourself you can't do it and start finding reasons to prove to yourself otherwise. Commit to persistent hard work and a positive tolerance of pain and be prepared to be amazed by the capacity of human physiology.

"The mind and body adapt to both comfort and deprivation... Relish the challenge of overcoming difficulties that would crush ordinary men." Learn to suffer and adapt to overcome.

Luray International

16 August, 2008: Luray, Virginia.

The Luray International Triathlon was the first olympic-distance race of the year in the Virginia Triathlon Series. I had slotted it as a mid-priority "B" race with the intention of using it to add an element of intensity to my speed-phase training and preparation for my remaining "A" races of the year: the Patriot's Half Ironman and Ironman Florida. Because of this I didn't take it too seriously, and "trained through it" instead of tapering for a fitness peak in order to arrive fresh and at full capacity. About a week and a half before the race I even decided to add on the challenge of tackling the Luray Sprint Triathlon the day following the olympic, curious to see if I could push my body's durability up a notch. This was a risky gamble, as I intended on holding nothing back at either event. When the dust settled I would either walk (or hobble) away with a harder body and a significant boost in top-end threshold speed, or I would burn out or seriously injure myself, threatening my training and burying my chances of a peak performance at either of my upcoming "A" races. Because of the slightly apathetic attitude I took toward the events, I continued the large volume long distance training I had been doing since June to prepare for Ironman Florida, with only a half-handful of high-intensity speed sessions catered toward short-course racing in the final few days before Luray. My final heavy workout was a whopping two days before the event, which was much too close. I came to Luray underprepared and overtrained, with nagging leg injuries that had plagued me the entire week before. In my ignorance I still held out hope that I could pull something off, perhaps placing on the division podium at one of the most competitive races of the year, if not win it outright.

I arrived in Luray somewhat uneasy about the condition of my legs, but still confident. I had literally redoubled my efforts in swim training, now swimming twice a day, six days a week in an attempt to put to rest the mediocre and sub-par performances I had been frustrated with for most of the year. This approach was working and I was looking forward to a personal best swim split at this race. My reputation on the bike was dominating to say the least, and the fact that high intensity workouts had been absent from my training the past couple months did little to phase me. The run would be an unknown; I had posted some fast times in the speed training I did the week before, but the lack of consistency and the deteriorated condition of my legs meant anything could happen. After checking in at the hotel I drove out to the race site at Lake Arrowhead to check out what we were in for. The lake was relatively small, with only one boat ramp and a small beach play area. Despite the brownish water, the scene was pretty picturesque, with a long levee bordering the south quarter of the lake and tall grass encompassing the remainder of the lake's perimeter. Because of the lake's small size, in order to get the full 1500 meters we would swim around near the edge of the lake clockwise for two loops, keeping the turn-buoys on our right before swimming in to the beach and running to transition. The quarter-mile run to the transition area from the swim exit was a little ridiculous. After coming out of the water we would have to run across the beach, across three gravel pits then up a steep hill using a long wooden staircase with tiny 2 inch step-ups between each stair. Once at the top, we would head left and continue about 100 meters up a gentler hill across the grassy, rooted, branch-strewn park until we finally reached the transition area also situated on a slight hill perched just before the park's main road. I drove the bike course and wasn't really intimidated, although I probably should have been. Driving in a car is very different from riding a bike, as its difficult to tell if the road is actually flat or if its a slight grade, which is crucial information because Newton's law makes it a very big difference on a bike. I would end up getting a significant portion of it wrong and as a result use my disk wheel in the rear when I should have used the lighter deep-dish 808. As I drove out of the park I perused the run course, and it was a bitch. Setup Events classifies it as "rolling," which is accurate I suppose, except the rollers were very steep, and relentless. Hardly a half mile of that 6.2 mile run was flat, and I will be the first to admit that hills are not my strength. Oh well; one problem at a time. After grabbing dinner and getting my race gear ready to go for the next day, I turned in 6 hours before my alarm would awaken me--not bad at all for a race night's sleep.

...

Looking out over the lake as we were stretching out and mentally preparing for the race, the director got on the loudspeakers and instructed us to fall silent and prepare for the singing of the national anthem. That's kind of cool, I thought--they don't do that at every race. Two overweight local women stepped up to the microphone, and what ensued was the most atrocious mutilation of the national anthem I'm sure I have ever heard. Seriously, these women should have been shot as traitors for what they did to the Star Spangled Banner. Francis Scott Key was undoubtedly turning in his grave. Their horrible melody and grating high notes had more than a few people visibly grimacing. Talk about nails on a chalkboard, I thought it would never end. Having endured the real challenge of the day, we applauded more the conclusion than their performance as we turned to face the lake and shake it off, focusing on getting pumped back up for the swim start. Having completed one of the most thorough swim warmups I've ever done immediately before a race, my mindset was aggressive and confident, exactly where it needed to be. I was looking forward to tearing up this 1500 meters. Because of the two-loop nature of the swim, the race organizers wanted to reduce congestion in the water by combining waves and decreasing the amount of time spaced between them in order to get everyone in the water as quickly as possible. This meant that my age group, normally seeded in the second wave, would join the professionals in the first. We waded into the water until we were all treading water, then spread out and seeded ourselves according to how fast we thought we'd be swimming. I positioned myself perfectly with my rivals, in what would develop into the lead amateur group once the race got under way. Unlike the bike leg, drafting is allowed during the swim, and it can prove to be extremely effective if done correctly; the reduced drag resistance is worth up to 10% of your overall speed and effort. A key aspect to the swim is finding a swimmer early on who is a little bit faster than you are, and provided they can swim in a straight line, swim close behind them for as long as possible. I've had trouble executing this well in the past, seemingly waiting too long before looking for a pair of feet to follow and getting stuck behind slower athletes as a result. This time I was determined to nail it.

The horn sounded and we all took off, sprinting furiously the first couple hundred meters. As the professionals began to swim away, I maneuvered through the pack and placed myself in the perfect drafting position. We began to settle into our pace and I was looking forward to the advantage I would gain from coming out of the water early. Before I could finish the thought, a strange sensation ran quickly up my back, culminating in a release of tension and downward collapse of my shoulders. "BULLSHIT" ...The zipper had separated and the back of my wetsuit spread open only 200 meters into the race. My extremely expensive, super high-tech, drag reducing triathlon wetsuit had become nothing more than a parachute, catching and filling with water every swim stroke. I stopped and tread water with my legs for several seconds, getting bumped and slapped as other athletes swam by. I began feeling behind me, tracing the zipper up and down with my hands to see if there were any immediate solutions to this problem. I found none. "GODDAMNIT!!!" I would later learn upon inspection that the random athlete I had help me zip my wetsuit prior to the race failed to properly align the two zipper halves, resulting in an off-set, incomplete zip with a small hole at the bottom which gave way under stress. The competitive fire in me all but extinguished, I spent the rest of the swim adjusting and modifying my stroke in an attempt to find the most efficient way to swim with an open wetsuit and increasing my tempo to try and make up for the increase in drag. I rapidly fell back from the pack I was attempting to hang with, and managed to find myself leading a slower one. As I rounded the second turn buoy and headed north things went from annoying to downright frustrating when another swimmer proceeded to beat the living crap out of my legs. I had fucking had it by this point, and when he didn't show signs of letting up after another 20 meters, I was getting ready to turn around and fight back. Alright asshole, I have enough problems as it is--find a new pair of feet to fail at drafting off of or I will see to it that you never emerge from this lake again... The thought must have transferred to him, because he fell back and never tried to draft or pass again. The remainder of the swim improved from there, but only marginally. I came out of the water well behind, and began the tedious work of playing catch-up. After sprinting across the beach and over the gravel pits my progress was halted by a slow moving traffic jam going up the wooden staircase. Once at the top I ran past the rest and up into transition, practically screeching to a halt once I reached my bike. I again had problems stripping my wetsuit off my ankles, although I managed not to fall on my ass this time. Wetsuits are supposed to save you time in a race, but today it was most definitely doing the opposite. As I was wrestling with the neoprene and uttering things that should never be repeated, I resolved to practice the hell out of wetsuit ditching before my upcoming "A" race in Williamsburg. Finally rid of the accursed thing, I threw on my shades and helmet, tearing my bike off the rack and sprinting toward the mount line. As I did this my world almost instantly turned white. More of a light gray, actually. Your sunglasses, which are waiting in the cool morning air with your bike while you swim, almost always fog up some when you put them on your warm face, but never this bad. I was straight blind as I ran toward the mount line, fortunate other athletes were getting on their bikes at the same time because I couldn't see the chalk line on the ground to save my life.

Once on my bike and rolling down the road, the airflow helped clear the fog from my shades. 25 miles is too short for me to hold back anything early on, so I started hammering right away. After a couple steep hills, the course descended down into the loop that we would ride twice before returning to transition for the run. The first 3 to 4 miles of this loop twisted back and forth downhill at a pretty steep grade. I wasn't feeling great, but I wasn't feeling horrible either, so I took advantage of the downhill to try and make up some time I lost in the swim. At 175 pounds, I'm closer to the heavy end of the spectrum as far as triathletes go. When you combine that momentum with my power and wind-slicing aerodynamics, you get an unstoppable force on the downhills. I have yet to find a single athlete who can keep up with me on the descents, professionals included. A very popular thing to do on steep descents is to stop pedaling and let gravity do the work for you, tucking in to make yourself as aerodynamic as possible. This strategy lets you reserve energy for later on the course, because pedaling hard on a downhill doesn't have as much an effect on your top speed like it does on the flats and uphills. All well and good, but when you train to race competitively at 112 miles for Ironman, 25 miles is a warm up. I knew I could go all out and time trial the 25 miles and still have plenty left for the run, so I used the descents to exaggerate my strengths, pedaling furiously and ripping past all my competitors at break-neck speed. Once at the bottom of this long descent, we were greeted by a sharp 90 degree left-hand turn opening up into flat ground. I went as wide as possible and dove into the turn, my bike and body practically sideways. I feathered my brakes as needed, trying to bleed as little speed as possible before erupting into a sprint once I straightened out. I held the sprint until my legs began burning badly, then sat back down and settled in to my aerobars, shifting up and focusing on good form, pedaling in smooth circles.

Progress was definitely being made, but not as fast as I wanted it to. After a couple miles the course transformed into winding, steep rollers for a similar distance, then finally straightened out on the last third of the loop. This was a part of the course I got horribly wrong when I drove it the day before. I was convinced this leg was flat, and it wasn't. It turned out to be several miles of a slight uphill grade. Much of my immediate energy was sapped from trying to maintain speed over the preceding rollers, and it was here that I began to realize my legs were not operating at 100%. It seemed like I just couldn't recover from that relatively brief effort, and the false flat did an excellent job at grinding me down to an average pace. Not what I needed to be doing if I intended on making up for that clusterfuck of a swim. I took in an energy gel and some fluids, focusing on trying to be as efficient as possible. I still hadn't seen anyone I recognized, and was concerned I was just too far behind. After what seemed like an eternity, I hung a left at the top of the road to start the second loop. Determined to make this one better than the last, I again opened up on the first long descent, this time not passing people quite as easily as last time. Finally, I've caught up to some fast people. Once at the bottom of the downhill I was blocked in from the outside and couldn't execute a fast turn like I did before. I had to work to catch back up to the guy who got the outside line and slingshot around him at a respectable pace. The same problem I had before reoccurred, however, and soon thereafter my power and pace dropped as my legs sort of petered out. You can't be serious...I've only gone 15 miles! I thought I had used up all my bad luck at my last race, but apparently it wasn't so. Around this time my disk wheel started making unhappy noises as I began playing tag with a group of about 5 other athletes. I would pass them, then a few minutes later they would pass me. A few minutes later we'd repeat the process. I've never been stuck in a group before, and riding almost the entire remainder of the bike leg with them did wonders with my frustration. They were good, but they weren't that good, and I should have been leaving them in the dust. I couldn't figure out what was going on with my wheel either. Something was rubbing, but it wasn't my brakes. I was getting extremely pissed at my misfortune. I even had someone come up from behind me and ask "Hey man, is your wheel ok?" to which I replied "Hell if I know!?" It didn't seem life-threatening, so I wasn't about to stop and examine it, giving up the precious time I had worked so hard to regain. Upon looking over my wheel after the race, I would discover that the wheel itself was rubbing against the frame--a result of hastily adjusting and spacing it upon installation. The last few miles consisted of several unnecessarily huge, steep and painful uphills that made me dearly regret my wheel choice for this race. The rubbing was at its worst here, and as if the nasty grade wasn't enough, it felt like I was biking in sand, even as I was standing out of the saddle with my gearing maxed out as light as it would go. Spectators offered words of encouragement from the side of the road that fell on deaf ears. "Come on, you can do it! You're almost at the top, good job!" God do I hate it when people do that. After cresting the last huge hill, the terrain eased up the last mile or so into the park, just enough time to recover and get ready for the run. I removed my feet from my shoes and rolled up to the dismount line standing on one side of my bike, hitting the ground running as soon as I crossed the line. I ran in to T2 too pissed to be discouraged. I angrily racked my bike, ditched my helmet, then had a hell of a time wrestling into my running shoes, which even have elastic laces so you don't have to tie them. Once my racing flats were attached to my feet I hauled ass out of transition, buckling my run belt with my race number attached as I ran.

The run took us out of the park and in the opposite direction from the bike course. It was a two-lap run, meaning we would run 1.55 miles out, turn around, come back in, turn around and repeat before detouring to the finish chute. While runs of multiple laps irritate me (I like to actually get somewhere for all this work), they give you ample opportunity to see where you stand with your competitors as you pass each other several times. You may remember that I mentioned this run course is a bitch. That's good, because I had forgotten and I was the one running it. I almost always go out fast on the run, sprinting out of transition with a red-lined heart rate. It is not unusual for my opening mile to be 30 seconds faster than my overall pace. Most people will tell you that this is a bad strategy, then proceed to advocate negative splitting (running the second half faster than the first). Thing is, no one ever told me about negative splitting three years ago when I began run training in earnest, so going hard at the start is ingrained in my body's muscle memory. I have tried both in training and in races, and quite simply my body is so used to blitzing the start before settling into its pace that alternate strategies almost always result in lower performance, except for long distance. It also helped that while the course was rolling, the run out to the first turn around had a net loss in altitude, meaning it was predominantly downhill. As predicted, I ran the first mile and a half blazing fast for the course, and when the extreme stress and white hot pain of pushing that hard began to subside, my pace would gradually grind down until the run back up to the park was painstakingly slow. At several points, when running up the steepest of the hills, I could feel series of individual fibers on the outside of my quadricep muscles popping and tearing. This was a sensation I have felt only once before, during the run at Buffalo Springs Lake Ironman 70.3. Not fun. My overtrained condition was making itself evident, but I pushed through anyway. I made sure to get fluids at every aid station, even though it wasn't very hot. On the way back out from the second turn around at the start of the second lap, I saw my main competitor running in like the devil was chasing him. In my last race report I commented on how fast at running my friend and rival Jordan Chang is. Well this guy is faster. And that's just fucking scary. My hopes for gold were extinguished, but I saw that coming long before this point. I was determined to make it onto the podium, and thought I had a shot at it, so I ignored my loudly complaining legs and continued to push hard. The second lap went much like the first, only a little slower. I caught sight of another competitor in my age group well ahead of me, and knew I would have to settle for third place at best. A bummer for sure, but still the podium at a very competitive race I wasn't prepared for. After a final series of leg-burning hills and lung-burning descents, I crossed the finish line with no one around me, just glad to get the disgusting feeling of mediocre performance over and done with. I grabbed a banana and a bottle of water, then found a bench in the shade and sat down, waiting for my body to calm itself and reverse the low-grade heart attack I had given it.

When they finally put up the preliminary results I discovered I had earned fourth place, missing the podium by three minutes, which is about what I estimated I lost in the swim due to my wetsuit malfunction, not to mention the wheel mishap on the bike. I placed 53rd overall, way off from what I was aiming for and ensuring that the ranking points I earned there would be too low to be used to calculate my ranking score in the Series. I left with nothing to show for my effort, feeling angry and disgusted like I had wasted my time. I'd had enough of short course for the year, it was time to focus on bigger fish to fry. I returned to my hotel room and immediately started the recovery process, taking in a ton of protein, carbs and hydration while elevating my legs when I wasn't stretching or massaging them. I took a nap for a couple hours, then woke up and evaluated my situation. I was fortunately able to fix the zipper on my wetsuit which saved me a serious amount of money. My legs didn't feel good at all, but that was to be expected. I opted to get sleep, setting my alarm as if I were going to do the sprint race the next day, postponing that decision to see if I could warm up and stretch out my legs in the morning well enough to race a second time. The next morning wasn't much better, and I couldn't get my legs raceable again. I decided against competing in the sprint at the last minute, not happy about not being able to do it, but I wasn't about to jeopardize the training for my upcoming "A" race, Patriot's Half Ironman in three weeks just to do a stupid sprint. If I could pull off the win there, it would without question erase the bitter taste from the horrible luck I've had in these past few races. I resolved to look ahead and forget about the immaterial past, immediately planning my training for the upcoming weeks and continuing my recovery. When the time came, I was more than happy to leave Luray behind and head home to begin work on my redemption. 'Chance favors the prepared mind,' along with 'fortune favors the bold' rang deafeningly loud in my head as I began to devote massive amounts of time and energy into planning my aggressive training and race strategy designed around decimating the field in three weeks time. Sick of misfortune, sick of failed preparation, sick of mediocre performance and sick of losing, I am consumed by my goal. Mark my words now, before the fact: I will annihilate Patriot's Half with every cell in my body and every ounce of my soul. That is all.