I'm Fastest When I'm the Slowest

Have you ever heard the saying, "Slow is smooth, smooth is fast?" Perhaps not. It's typically used in tactical settings, such as sniper sighting, Navy Seal instruction, picking up hotties, and other forms of military training. I'm familiar with none of these. I do, however, appreciate the conflict in the concept. Rushing around makes for sloppy technique, which in turn makes you slow. Being slow and deliberate in your movements makes you smooth, which makes for quality technique, which in turn makes you get the hottie's number faster without even trying.

I was thinking about this idea of slow being smooth, smooth being fast the other day while in the pool. Swimming is highly technical. When you rush it, your stroke gets sloppy. The better your form, the faster you'll go. Lucky for you, and maybe me (we'll see), swimming fitness and swimming technique climb the hill together. This is the reason that competitive swimmers will put in 10's of thousands of yards of swimming in an easy week. Sometimes, they'll reach 10k+ in a day. Every stroke is both fitness building and technique building. The more strokes, the more fitness and improved technique. Triathletes, especially ones that don't come from a swimming background, don't appreciate this as much as they should. We struggle to get to the pool 3 days a week and believe that 2500 yards is a big deal. Sadly, there is no shortcut to speed in the water...

...Actually, there is this one little thing. It happens when the Male Ego Gene thinks that a you should be superior than those around you even though you're not. As a result, you will go faster. Here's the catch, you will be trying. But, you won't know that you are trying. Which should make you wonder- if you are trying without knowing that you're trying, does it count as effort? (I, being a science guy, know the answer to this question.)

Here's how the situation played out in the pool: As always, lanes 4-6 were water aerobics people with silvery type hair (Aside: I must be inadvertently stalking these people. We are always at the pool at the same time, regardless of the day or the pool. Either that, or there is a never ending feed of classes. I really don't know. /End Aside.)

Lane 2 featured a 10 year old girl. She was wearing a blue competitive suit, odd in these parts (the competitive thing, not the color thing or the girl thing). She reminded me of a Sailfish (featured in the pic). She and the sailfish had a lot in common. Obviously, they're both sporting the color blue. They had thin, sleek physiques that slice through the water. Sailfish and the girl clock in at somewhere between 4 and 5 feet in length. Sailfish are known as the fastest in the water, reaching speeds near 70 mph. The girl wasn't far behind. There were a couple of notable differences between the two, in case you were wondering. 1. The girl's nose wasn't that long. 2. She was a lot smilier than shown in the image. 3. Her dorsal fin wasn't nearly as pronounced.

In lane 1, near the wall, was a college-aged dude who was a little soft in the middle but had big, beefy swimmer shoulders. He had one of those swim caps with an American flag and his name. Well, I assumed it was his name but I never got a chance to validate that assertion. There were some barriers towards that reading. First, I'm nearsighted and the writing wasn't large. Second, I typically don't check out the dudes spend that much time in a single spot, proffering to workout. This makes reading a bit more difficult. Third, he was doing a butterfly set. He slipped through the water like a bottlenose dolphin, smooth and undulating. It was a pretty sweet spectacle to behold. Why would I bother trying to read his cap when there was so much beauty in his stroke?

In lane 3 was the Banter. For those of you who haven't had the privilege, my aquatic spirit animal is a manatee. I hang out just beneath the surface with a perma-muffin top that refuses to disappear on it's own. Instead of swimming, I just hover inches below the surface yet still seem to move in a forward direction. People aren't really sure which of my body parts cause the propulsion. We both are super gentle and not that smart. In all fairness to the manatee, they are significantly cuter than me.

In sets of last week, I was holding my 100 yard repeats on the 1:40 and feeling accomplished (it really is such a sad state of mind). Well, it didn't take me long to notice that the 10 year old sailfish and the butterflying dolphin dude were both holding intervals at a much faster speed than my seaweed grazing sack of goo was capable of achieving. Much to my surprise, when I hit the wall on the first rep, the deck clock announced that I had arrived in a 1:21. Excuse me? I was certain it was a mistake. Well, the ego gene was firmly in command at this time so I made the decision to send off on the 1:30 instead of the 1:40. Typical progressions go in 5 second intervals, meaning that a smart guy would have tried for the 1:35, based off of recent training past. Remember, I'm a low IQ sea cow. The second rep landed on the 1:22, as did the 3rd and 4th. The fifth slowed to a 1:25.

I took a breather and recharged my mojo by watching the superior marine life in the lanes next to me practice their trades. Their techniques couldn't be any more different from each other and from mine. They were united in the notion that I would have been a significant roadblock had we been sharing a lane. I pushed off on the second set of 5x100s thinking that I'd be back in reality land. Nope. I held 1:23-24 for the lot and kept my interval at 1:30.

It was as it's always been. By swimming with people who are faster, the mind and body get stretched out past the limits they placed. In being the slowest person in the pool, a situation that I loathe, I became faster than I've been since my return to the drink. I wasn't even trying to go that fast. It just happened.

Oh, and just in case you were wondering, yes, it counts as effort. How do I know? Later on that night, I couldn't lift my arms above my head. (Aside 2: I really didn't have much of a reason to lift my arms above my head. The only reason I know about the struggle stems from a yawn and attempted stretch. If it weren't for that, I'd still be thinking that I'm some sort of super-adaptor. Again, I'm not that smart. /End Aside 2) The unknowing effort caught up with me. Which is alright, since I spend most of the evening not moving and grazing. I'm a manatee on land, too.

The 5th Emotion

I am not, by any means, an expert on emotions. I am, however, well read and a very careful observer. Based on volumes of literature and years of experience, I'm pretty sure that there are only 4 emotions: Happy, sad, frustrated, and hungry. In most instances, the latter is widely accepted as the driving force for the other 3.

(Aside: Some journals also list a sub-emotion, known as horny. It is believed to be a concurrence state of happy and frustrated. Recently, testing protocols during those experiments has been called into question. Whereas scientists agree that horniness exists, as evidenced in countless You-Tube videos of spring break (of which I have NOT seen, just for the record) (please don't ask me how I know about those videos that I have not seen) (keep in mind that I am, like I said, well read) the question is whether or not the condition is an actual emotion or simply a character trait controlled mainly by the Y chromosome. Others believe that they have found the horny gene on the X chromosome with a magnifying gene on the Y, using that hypothesis to explain why males are more... Anyway, the debate is very polarized and consensus is not expected any time soon. End Aside.)

Early Friday morning, I awoke earlier than usual with a funky pain in my chest. I am, for all intents and purposes, not very old in terms of expected heart problems. Not wanting to rule it out, I took my pulse. It was sitting happily in the upper 40s. No beats were skipped. Using that highly sophisticated system of diagnostics, I quickly ruled out heart attack, stroke, and knife to the thorax as possible causes of my chest discomfort.

Now that my interests were piqued, sleep was not about to return. I got up and did some research. My first order of business, for some reason, was to look at my training log. Training can be an incredibly powerful tool, but it can be destructive as well. I didn't like what the log was telling me.

I'll note that the Banter-in-Law and I have been recently having a pseudo- run competition for a couple of weeks now. I'm not sure who's winning, mostly because I don't have a copy of the rule book. Despite repeated attempts to order one from Amazon, I have failed miserably at obtaining a clear description if the winner is declared by the sum of miles over the duration of the competition period or if the winner of this week gets a point and the miles are zeroed at the beginning of a week.

To further complicate matters, the BIL and I disagree as to when the week actually starts. I posit that the week starts on Monday since Saturday and Sunday are commonly referred to as 'the weekend' and training blocks are combined efforts on these days. The BIL is quite Gregorian in his definition and prefers to allow the common wall calendar to control on what day his week starts. Even the Bible states that the week starts on Monday but this evidence means nothing to the BIL. Again, debates like these are highly polarized and rarely is a consensus formed. Which is why I need a copy of the official rule book. Which is why I have a complaint email out to Amazon customer service.

Regardless of how you interpret the rules, the competition is pretty close. I believe that our weekly mileage over the past couple of weeks is similar. In the head-to-head competition, I have won just as many weeks as I have lost. Things are heating up, unless you are looking at my weather forecast.

This past week has been a little different. Not only have I been trying to run more, I'm taking the overachiever line of adding more bike trainer time. Ideally, I'd be getting in simple saddle time. Since I'm doing my work on the trainer, simple saddle time sucks and I've replaced cruising with intervals. And when doing intervals, the Ego Gene takes over and I have to go hard. And, over the course of 3 weeks, I went from 3 rides to 4 rides and now to 5 rides this week.

On top of that, I've been running 7-8 times a week. This is more running as I have ever done in a week's time in both frequency and mileage. One day, about 10 days ago, it was 'warm' outside (40s) and I went hard. My legs were still smarting a couple days later. On Tuesday of this week, I did my usual trainer ride in the morning. It was tough. I canceled a run due to muscle soreness and replaced it with a glass of wine and Big Bang Theory reruns. On Wednesday, I did my a.m. ride and a nice afternoon tempo run. On Thursday, I was scheduled for an easy short run but replaced it with a date with the Wife.

When I looked at the log on Friday morning, it's clear that my brain has subconsciously come to the conclusion that I will only be getting in 6 runs this week and losing about 8-10 miles as compared to last week. This was a hard pill to swallow. After hitting PubMed, I came across a study found in the Journal of Obscure Medicine that lists, what scientists believe, is an actual 5th emotion: Guilt.

Guilt is triggered by the release of guilt-inducing hormones that flood the brain and body. Hypersensitivity to the environment is common in patients suspected of guilt. Here's the worst part about guilt- it creates an additive, negative cycle pattern of thought. Once you start to feel guilty about something, you think about it more often. Which leads to more guilt. Which leads to more thinking. Then, you start to feel guilty about feeling guilty. Thus, the cycle is amplified.

Even in the JOOM, they list that in most test subjects, guilt lies in direct conflict with logic. This was certainly my case. Logically speaking, it was a good idea in taking time off. My legs recovered well. I was able to hit my targets during my bike rides. My subsequent runs were smooth and comfortable. Six runs with 30+ miles is still darn good. I had a great date with the Wife. There was nothing to feel guilty about. But, like most emotions, there really is no point in arguing.

After learning about this new emotion, of which it is clear I am capable of having, I needed a solution to my problem. I needed to stop feeling guilty. I did what anyone else in my situation would do. I went for a run. And, just to make sure, I tacked on a couple of additional miles from the original plan. I didn't erase the guilt completely, but it did lessen the blow. I slept well of Friday night.

The Challenge Has Been Issued

Most triathletes are type A personalities. For those unfamiliar with the term, it means that we strive to be the best at everything that we do. Even if we suck at something, we still do our darndest to suck better than everyone else. We try to be the suckiest bunch of sucks that ever sucked.

I am no different. Therefore, when a challenge is laid on the table its pretty much a given that it will be accepted and attacked with fervor. Here's the story:

Every so often, we babysit the dog-in-law. The DIL is the litter-mate of my running dog, Westley. The parents-in-law unnecessarily feel the need to compensate for our DIL-related duties. Historically, they purchase some sort of gift that is incredible suited for the Wife. I honestly have no need for candles, candle holders, or floral patterned plates that cannot be put in the microwave (I'm sensationalizing a bit for story purposes). You cannot eat them and you remove my #1 cooking tool.

On their most recent trip, the FIL decided to change all of that. He plopped this bad boy down on my kitchen counter.

Then, he followed it with a comment similar to the likes of, "You couldn't possibly eat that all by yourself, right? You are going to share that with your kids and colleagues at school, right?"

I'm sorry to report to my kids and colleagues at school that I did not actually hear the second part of the offer. Who does he think he is telling me that I could not eat all of that chocolate? I have known the man for nearly 2 decades now. He should know better.

Just to be clear, I'd like to give you a little more perspective.

That's right. What you see there is a gargoyle holding a 5 pound chocolate bad boy dubbed "The World's Largest Hershey Bar" and the nose of a 125 pound dog (not the DIL) just daring me to drop it. Don't worry Big Dog, I've got this under control.

When accepting these types of challenges, there are a few unwritten rules which you should NOT do.

Do not look at the nutrition information:

If you refused to look at the Nutrition Facts, you would not see that this bar has 50 full servings of chocolate, each one sporting 240 calories. You most definitely would not do the math to learn that there are a grand total of 12,000 calories hidden in that bar (luckily only 6500 from fat). It would probably be a horrific idea to compare the calorie information to that of raw butter, which contains only 100 calories per serving (all from fat). If you upped the ante to lard, you gain an extra 20 calories and still don't come to half of the crap yielded in this guy. Yup, this thing is, nutritionally speaking, worse than pure butter or lard.

Thank goodness that the Father-in-Law did not set a time stamp on the challenge. I have every intention of finishing every last dripping-in-fatty-goodness calorie. There is a rumor that the Wife has stolen some for a chocolate/ almond concoction. Knowing her, she will not put a significant dent in the supply.

I'll keep you updated.

Swimming with Kryptonite

Have I mentioned before that my YMCA makes me feel like a superhero? I thought so. For the most part, this is completely true. In the 8 years or so that I've been dipping my feet into their overheated bathwater that doubles for a swimming pool, I've not been bested in a set. Granted, there's a lack of competition but the fact remains, I am the king of the pool tend to be the fastest guy in the water.

Recently, I went for a lunchtime swim. I think someone spiked the water before I got in. It wasn't the good, college-fraternity type of spiking. It was the kryptonite in the water a la the movie Superman type of spiking. It rendered my swimming ability useless. Allow me to paint the picture:

Swim Sets Decoded
I was doing a set of 3x5x100s, negative sets 1-3. For those of you who do not speak swimmer, I'll interpret. To decipher this code, you read starting in the middle and moving to the left. Once you get to the left most words, you go back to your starting point and then read to the right. Dead smack in the middle of the description, you'll find the distance, 100 yards. This is 4 lengths or 4 laps or 2 laps, depending on which system you feel is appropriate. Moving to the left, you'll notice that I had to do 5 of these things. Then, moving further to the left, you'll notice that I had to repeat this set 3 times.

Why in the world didn't the set simply say '15 x 100s'? Good question. Because, there's more to the code. Go back to the starting distance and see that, now reading to the right, that I had to negative. This may mean to keep a grumpy, pessimistic attitude during the entire set. However, it really means that my first 5x100s was to be the slowest, the second 5x100s was to be a bit faster, and the last 5x100s was to be the fastest. I did the first set on the 1:40, the second on the 1:35, and the third on the 1:30.

Enter the Ego
Now, despite my superhero comparison, my swimming this season is in better shape than a year ago. I have been flowing through the water more efficiently than in the past. Once I hit the final set of the workout, I decided that I wanted to hold 1:22s. There were several reasons for this:

1. The Wife was sharing a lane with me. This always means that I'm going to swim faster than normal due to the Male Ego Gene. We were swimming in lane 5.
2. There was a second hottie, New Girl, who just entered the water. On a scale of 1 to 10, with a 1 being the fat, old guy water floating with a noodle in the deep end and 10 being the Wife, I'd place the NG at around a 7 +/- 1. She could have been a notch up or down, but keep in mind that I did not get a good look (see item #1). Even though I was mid-set, the Ego Gene caught her scent and bumped the effort up a bit. She was in lane 6, nearest the wall.
3. Right around the same time that the girl from item 2 got in the water, a Dude got in the pool. I had about 8 seconds to notice him in lane 4. He was to my left while the deck clock was to my right. The Wife was also to my left while the NG was to my right. I'd rank the Dude at around an 8 +/-1. He could probably go up a notch, but keep in mind that I was in mid-set, didn't get a good look as he was behind me, and, well, he's a dude. 

Game On
Here's the thing about the Dude... Even in the menial 8 seconds I had to take in all of the data happening in the pool, I could tell the guy was a swimmer. First, he had that chiseled, v-shaped body that swimmers are prone to sporting. Second, he did not look at either of the women in the pool. His eyes were glued to the same place as mine, the deck clock. Third, he pushed off at the exact same time as I did, on the 60. My Male Ego Gene was in overdrive.

This was #3 of 5 in the set. Number 1 was on the 1:22. Number 2 was on the 1:22. As I analyze that specific 100 yard swim, I felt like I did everything right. I powered off the wall in perfect streamline position. I held my line for 7 yards. I pulled straight-armed with my bottom arm first. I kept my head-hips-and-heels (commonly called the 3 H's) in a tight formation. I was efficient, making it from wall to wall in 14 strokes (my normal is 15). As I rotated on to my left side, my body was facing lane 4. Time to check on the competition. I was behind by about 1 yard.

I hit the flip turn hard and perfect. When I flip, I naturally spin on my left side. Since we have switched directions, I was now facing lane 6, where the NG was swimming. She was there for my viewing pleasure but the landscape was wasted. The Ego Gene dictates that now is the time to impress. Later is the time to gawk. After my stroke rotated me back towards lane 4, I took note that I had not taken the lead on the Dude. He was still about a yard ahead. At least I didn't lose any water on the turn. As he stroked, his lead was beginning to widen.

The Wife was waiting for me at the wall. I had done 50 yards of the required 100 in this interval and the Wife was Cat and Mousing me. This was going to be my chance to come back on the Dude. As I started my flip, the Wife pushed off giving her a head start on our lane 5 race. She can be pretty dang quick when she wants. I noticed that I had started to kick, which is something that I do not normally do while swimming. I also notice that she was between me and lane 4. I had no idea where the Dude was but I was confident that I had closed the gap (perhaps passed) due to the extra effort.

The Wife hit the wall at the 75 first, which was normal for this type of set. She, however, has not had years of abuse in flip turn practice. I can normally pick up 2-3 body lengths on her just on the turn (which also explains why she gets a head start). This was the case and I had some clear water. I peeked at lane 6 and, yep, NG was still there. As I swung to the right, I didn't see the Dude. I assumed that I had smoked him. I didn't have too much time to contemplate pool positions as the Wife was coming back off her turn into a nice sprint for the finish. I stroked hard to stay in front.

When I hit the wall, I immediately popped up and looked at the deck clock. This is what swimmers are trained to do. Your first look is always at the deck clock. Your second look is up to you. The clock posted a 1:12, a full 10 seconds faster than my goal speed. Having cataloged that number, I was free to look around. I had 18 seconds to gander at my surroundings. The Wife hit the wall about 1 second behind. The NG was mid-pool, heading in my direction swimming breaststroke. The Dude was also mid-pool but he was outward bound. He had about a 10 yard lead on me.

Excuse me?! I had the fastest 100 yards of my season. I had the fastest 100 yards of the past 2 seasons. I was in MY YMCA. Yet, here this pretty-boy swimmer Dude came in and made my interval seem like chump change. As I reflect on the set, I'm pretty sure that there was something horribly wrong. I wasn't fast at all. I only thought I was fast.

The Results Explained
One of the many, many consequences of the Male Ego Gene is its ability to rationalize failure into a positive light. It will work the system, find loopholes, and spin scenarios into whatever direction it can in an effort to replace unpleasant situations with more amenable outcomes. My Ego created a new reality and it found an alternative-fictional explanation for this inexplicable phenomena.

The interval was not a 1:12 but a 2:12. Yeah, that's it. The Dude wasn't fast, he was just normal. Perhaps, he was, dare I say, slow. If he was slow, then I swam super slow due to the 'kryptonite' in the water. Granted, I have not officially identified the specific substance that sucks the speed out of my arms but it is blatantly clear that something was in the water (which had nothing to do with the deposit I made right before the set).

Oddly, I had not been back to that pool for ten days. I even tried a new YMCA (which, sadly, had pool temperatures even warmer than my Y). I am afraid. I don't want to get super slow. I don't want to lose my superhero swimming ability. I don't want to face the Dude, only to lose again. I, just like most superheroes, am a great big cowardly, pansy.

Accepting the hidden challenge

The Challenge
Earlier this weekend, the Banter-in-Law sent me an email. It can be seen below in its entirety. I have edited the link as I do not have permission to share the nitty gritty of his Garmin data with the entire world. It's off by only 1 or 2 characters for those of you who are feeling ambitious and are hoping to hack into the BIL's Garmin files.

To: The Banter

From: BIL@BilsPlace.Net

Subject: Ride Baby!

<iframe width='465' height='548' frameborder='0'
src='http://www.ClickHereToSeeMyAwesomeness'></iframe>

 Here's what you don't see. You miss out on the hidden agenda blatantly clear when one triathlete emails another triathlete. Since Google translator does not speak triathlete, I'll interpret for you.

To: The Banter

From: BIL@BilsPlace.Net

Subject: Ride Baby!

Dear Pansy,

What a nice blog article last week on how you are stuck in your basement. I, however, live in a better place than you. I am not sequestered to a bike routine of going nowhere. Just to prove it, the weather here was so pleasant that I went on a 40+ mile bike ride. It was a little bit windy but I planned it perfectly so that I would start into the wind and fly home without doing any work. Here's my Garmin file. Read it and weep you big loser. Should you ever get out into the real world instead of being an agoraphobic, see if you can beat me.

-The BIL

In his defense, it was a really good ride. The BIL is training for Olympic Distance races with the hopes on upping the ante to a half-iron. Either way, a 40+ mile training ride is pretty cushy at this time in the season. He averaged 18.4 mph over the duration, which is faster than the average athlete in most given races.

Well, BIL, I read your trash talk and your challenge was accepted. Up here in the north, winter has released its feeble grasp. This past Sunday, I went on my own 40 mile ride. Or so I thought.

Pre- Ride
This was a perfect opportunity to test my mettle against the BIL's. The last time we raced head-to-head was in 2010. I, of course, won. He had a good showing at that race but it was early in his triathlon career, he was on a borrowed bike (mine), and he was running an unfamiliar course. This time, he had the home court advantage, full knowledge of the challenge ahead of time, was on his own bike (a nice aero Cervelo at that), and had weeks of outdoor training.

He had reported that there was an average of 10-15 mile winds on his ride. Since this is a competition, and I am cursed with the Male Ego Gene, I am proud to report that our winds were 20 mph with gusts into the near 30. Take that BIL.

As I set out, it had dawned on me that I haven't been outside of the basement in 2012. It took me a while to get set up. First, I had to find the front wheel to my bike. The basement does not require both wheels and, due to the nature of a wheel, it moves around from time to time. Upon successfully finding and securing the wheel (without which I would have surely lost the race), I moved on to finding my helmet, glasses, gloves, and spare tire. None of these are required in the dungeon. Technically, they are not required on the road either but they are a very good idea.

When I stepped out into my garage, the wind gusts, which were out of the west, smacked me dead in the face. Brr. I went back inside. When I returned, I now had on 3 shirts, ear warmers, and full gloves instead of those with the finger holes cut out. Not only did I have the wind and the cold working against me, but I added about 15 pounds of fabric weight. I was not deterred. In hindsight, I was WAY over dressed. This fact had no bearing on the competition at hand.

The Problem
As I got ready to mount my faithful steed, there is one more piece of the puzzle, The Garmin, which would prove once and for all who is the greatest triathlete in the family. The Garmin was with me a couple of hours ago when I went on my morning tempo run. The Garmin goes with on every run. On every basement ride. And now, new to 2012, on every outdoors ride. Only this time, it refused to work. I'd like to think it had performance anxiety. It had plenty of power. Still, it refused to start up. I tried everything. Apparently, begging doesn't work on your 310xt. Another solution would have to present itself.

<Aside: I took it with me anyway. At the 45 minute mark, I pulled off into a small park and attempted to start the Garmin again. I suppose that trying to restart the Garmin (complete with a 'soft reset') no less than 4 times at home wasn't enough to convince this idiot of its uselessness. As you can probably guess, it didn't work again. End Aside>

(I secretly think that the BIL convinced the Wife, his sister, to sabotage my unit. Sneaky but effective.)

The Less-Than-Perfect Solution
I have an old Timex watch. I licked it a long time ago. Than goodness I had the clairvoyance to do that. It was ticking perfectly. The downside: no gps. I set out on what I thought was at least 40 miles. It took me 1:57.12. Ha, BIL. That's 20. <something> mph. In your face.

Later on, I googled the route. As it turns out, my ride was just over 38 miles. Give me credit for planning a 40 mile route and getting to within 5% with only my brain as a guide. Caveman approach. This brings my average down to about 19.6 mph. Still not too shabby.

And the Winner Is...
Alright, I'm gonna call it a draw. The BIL had a great workout. He had hardcore evidence to back up his claim to awesomeness. The Banter had his ego, an old watch, and sketchy directions.

Be wary BIL. I will ride this challenge again. And when I do, you can bet that I will have healed the Garmin. I will be ready, once and for all, willing to reclaim the "Best Triathlete in the Family" Title. Until then, keep up the good work. I am proud to compete against the likes of you.

The Ego Blanket

Here's the thing: the more I think about it, the more power the Ego Gene garners. For those of you who are new to the blog, here's a review of the Male Ego Gene.

The Male Ego Gene Explained- Excerpt from a Prior Post 1

Midway down the Y-chromosome, they discovered the male-ego gene.  Later studies indicate how the gene works. The gene is automatically turned on in the presence of women. The hotter the female, or the larger number of females, the harder the gene works. The ego gene is also activated in the presence of children and other men whose gene has also been activated. The gene is inactive when you are alone or in the presence of your Mommy. Don't ask. I don't fully understand it either. But, I do know that since I live with a hot chick (AKA the Wife), am a teacher, and my Mommy lives 550 miles away, my ego-gene is running the equivalent of 20 hours per day, 7 days a week. 

The Competition Addendum- Excerpt From a Prior Post 2

See, in addendum to the male-ego gene is a small portion on the end which controls competition. The competition addendum states that people are supposed to be behind you, not in front. Make sure it happens...Yes, I want to beat that 5'4" girl running in pigtails and pink clothes. Yes, if that 11 year old boy beats me it will be a blow to my manhood.

New Research
I remember, back in the years when I both was prone to imbibe and socialize, we could go outside when the temperature was lower than our normal threshold. This phenomenon is commonly referred to as the "Beer Jacket". In reality, ethanol doesn't actually provide any heat. It acts as a vaso-dilator. This is good to know in case you need your vasos opened up. The hops only gave you the illusion of warmth, with your heme hanging out near the surface of your dermis.

Well, according to the Journal of Obscure Research (the leading source for Male Ego Gene knowledge), the Male Ego has realistic heating powers. According to the abstract:

In the presence of Male Ego activating factors, special proteins in the blood bind with adrenaline receptors inducing a hormonal response. In our study, participants were subjected to various response factors (hot chicks, blokes who may be better at sports, kids who look to them as role models, etc). Subjects were then placed in controlled environments with varying temperatures. In an overwhelming majority of instances (+90%) as compared to the control group (who where not subjected to said factors), activated Male Ego Geners were more tolerant to cold temperatures than their non-activated counterparts.

This research was proven by yours truly in a recent field test. As the winter refuses to fully go away, I was subjected to lower than normally tolerated temperatures at the Flower City Duathlon. The morning temperature was a blustery 38º. Normally, at that temperature, I would subject my bike to the basement instead of risking the cold. I'm pretty sure the carbon and the other components don't appreciate the cold. Therefore, the basement is less of a pansy move and more of a preventative move. I've checked the JOOR but there has not been much research on the performance of overpriced bikes in various temperatures. Anecdotal evidence indicates that under 40º is not for biking outside.

Unfortunately, the race organizers didn't take my pansiness into consideration and they let the race go on as planned. Here was my race outfit.

1. Long Sleeved technical shirt (not the free one given with my entry fee)
2. Long Sleeved cotton shirt
3. Riding jersey (with convenient back pockets)
4. Tri-shorts
5. Biking tights
6. Smart wool socks
7. Shoes with toe covers

All of those were worn on the run. Now, normally during the runs near freezing, I would also include head warmers and running gloves. As I lined up near the starting line, I noticed the number of guys in my age group. I looked behind me and saw numerous ladies, too many to count. On the side lines were several kids, I'm guessing offspring of some of these participants. I admit that they could have been strays in the middle of the city on a cool Sunday morning, but I'm skeptical. Regardless of the reason of the youngins, they rounded out the trifecta of Male Ego activation.

Thus, I was not cold. I was actually comfortable bordering on warm. I might have been over-dressed. And this was before we started running. As the race was in its final countdown and transition was a few hundred yards away, I was forced to keep the outer layers. The ear covers and gloves were not needed and relegated to the back jersey pockets.

Once Run 1 was completed, I had planned on full gloves, jacket, and ear things. Because there were guys in transition and kids cheering (the ladies started 2 heats back and had not caught up to me yet), the Ego Gene was still running with the Competition Addendum in full swing. Temperature was of no consequence. I decided that the ear things were still a good idea (allowing logic to have a say in this race). But, I dropped the jacket and full gloves, opting for the regular biking gloves (you know, the ones with no fingers). The Competition Addendum kept me warm throughout the entire bike.

Run 2 was as good as it got. I was feeling good. I even passed a few guys. Once I got chicked, about 2 miles into the run and roughly three-quarters of a mile before the finish, I was completely warm. My warmth may have been created by all that exercise. It might have also been due to the embarrassment of said chicking (again, its genetic, don't blame me). The leading research says that the heat was a consequence of the Ego.

As you can see, the Male Ego gene is quite powerful. It increases heart rate, blood pressure, fat-burning, and now temperature tolerance. It encourages higher levels of competition and forces dudes to act in ways that they would not normally consider. Some women experience symptoms similar to the Male Ego gene, but science has just started to focus on that phenomenon. Still, the impact of the Male Ego gene is amazing. Take me, for instance. The Ego Gene was the sole factor I completed the race instead of hanging out in the car with the heater blaring or heading out to the coffee shop for my favorite chocolate flavored caffeine. Like it or not, I've got it and it's in control.