The Banter's Journey

Every once in a while, I get asked the question, "Banter- what keeps you going year after year?" (Okay, no one actually asks me that question other than the voices inside my own head.) It's a good question. I just concluded my 20th season of triathloning and I'm just as motivated as ever. This is in light of the numerous failures at achieving the goals for which I have set. On paper, I have more failures than successes. Year after year, I trudge on when many smarter lesser individuals have given up. The biggest factor that gets me up in the sport morning is... Unfinished business.

Here's the thing- for the past few years I've been performing subparly, especially when parred against myself. The last time I can remember being satisfied with my sport performance as a season was 2012. Most of my current tri-family hadn't received their birth in sport and I was starting to fizzle. So for the past 7 years, I've done nothing but mediocre sport. That's going to end!


Have you ever heard of the Hero's Journey? It's a literary device for the dozens of us who still like to read. Basically, the main character goes on a journey for some unknown reason, has an adventure, experiences a crisis, still manages to win, and returns home a changed being.  

There are several different versions of the Hero's Journey. One has 17 steps. Another has 12. They're all basically the same, with some being more verbose than others. I'm going to present to you the 8 step version (ya know, 'cause I'm the lazy type). 


The Hero's Journey- Step by Step Instructions
Step 1- The separation. Taking the hero from the ordinary world. Yeah, for those of you who've met me, you'd know that ship sailed a long time ago, destination unknown. I'm not even sure the ordinary world would accept me back.

Step 2- The call. A problem is presented, and the hero could not remain in the ordinary world. This one's easy. I have this delusion that I'd like to be good at sport. It seems that just when it's starting to look up, I get smacked in the face with this thing called reality and the ordinary world just comes crashing down. Something's gotta give.

Step 3- Threshold. The actually crossing over, the journey begins... This is the exact stage where I'm currently sitting. I've signed up for Ironman Mt. Tremblant, which will take place on August 23, 2020. That's just over 9 months time, or a slightly long, Banter-esque gestation (yes, I was 2+ weeks late). Base training has officially begun.

Step 4- The Challenges. See, here's the thing, I'm a big pansy. Most of the aspects of sport that make one successful I lack. This list includes, but not limited to: intelligence, the desire to go out in the elements at the wee hours of the morning, the determination to trudge on even when the trudging doesn't want to go on, the will to do it over and over and over again, the ability to fuel adequately (<-- okay, this one I actually have), and so much more. 

Step 5- The Abyss- the death and rebirth of the hero. Historically, my abyss comes in one of two forms. The first is due to injury. Injuries have plagued my last few seasons in such a way as I'm beginning to think I'm injury prone. I still think that I'm wrong though. The second form is a lack of motivation come late spring/ early summer. The reason for this form is that the area in which I live doesn't normally get the memo that winter has ended until mid-June. This zaps my will to live and continue to train indoors. I traditionally pick life. 2020 might toss something new at me. Who knows?

Step 6- The Transformation- a sudden, dramatic change in the way the hero thinks. I, too,  am patiently awaiting how this plays out. Stay tuned.

Step 7- Atonement- the hero becomes at peace with himself. I have resigned myself to go sub-11, meaning that anytime of 10:59.59 or faster will suffice. My previous best was an 11:33. Even if I fail, I'll still be at peace for at least the next 7 days or so, which is how long it takes for me to relearn how to walk after a 140.6 event.

Step 8- Return with a gift. This one's not so difficult to understand. Everyone who finishes the race gets finisher's gear. A medal. A hat. A shirt. A chance to spend even more money on pictures, plaques, jackets, your own airline, etc. 

The next 9 months are going to be an adventure and I plan on enjoying every at least a few steps along the way. I'll keep you updated. Welcome to my Journey.

Post Ironman Stress Syndrome

There are several Post <something> Disorders on the books. Take, for example, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. PTSD is commonly found in soldiers returning from war. Or car crash victims. Or those who have have heinous crimes committed against them. Some spend their lives trying to reacclimate to society while living in the personal hell of their mind forever scarred by the travesty they had just experienced. There are various degrees of horror on the PTSD spectrum, none of them are fun. Without help, sufferers may remain in a state of disorder for a very long time.

Some women have been known to experience Postpartum Disorders. PPD happens after giving birth. These new mothers can have mood swings, grumpiness, or full blown depression. It should go away on its own but, in persistent cases, therapy is required.

Most of the Post Disorders are caused in similar fashion. First, there was an event. Second, stress hormones were released. Third, body chemistry was thrown out of balance. Symptoms arise as a result of imbalanced chemistry as order is attempted to be restored.

Shortly after I did IMLP 2012, I diagnosed myself (because, as a guy, I don't normally go to the doctor), with a new Post Disorder that I'm pretty sure exists but no one has done the research yet. I named my disorder "Post Ironman Stress Syndrome." That's right, I was PISSy. My PISSy-ness helps explain the lag in posts during the month of August. But there's more to the story.

Being PISSy is not fun for you or for those around you. Symptoms include, but are not limited to:

• Lack of desire to remove yourself from the couch
• Penchant to watching bad movies
• Sleeping more than normal
• Overdeveloped desire to eat more than your activity level
• No motivation to exercise
• Urge to blow off normal household chores
• Neglecting or half-assing your blogging responsibilities
• Basically, you have gone from Ironman to what you perceive is the average person

After my PISSy self-diagnosis, my August starts to make perfect sense. In late July, I had an event, I.E. less than stellar IM performance (worst of my lifetime). This crushed the dream that I spent 10 months working towards. To say that I was stressed over the lack of performance would be quite accurate.

This emotional stress was compounded by the physical damage of an Ironman. You muscle tissues are shredded from the effort and distance alone. Then, I learned that the cramp I experienced during the IM run was an actual injury that took more than a week to subside.

My stress was worsened when I realized that for the first time in 6 years, I did not sign up for IMLP. As of this moment, my 2013 calendar is IM free and I am struggling to cope with that reality- which was slowly slipping away from me. IMLP fills up in a matter of minutes so I can't change my mind even if I wanted to.

When you are sore and hurt, what else do you do in your free time? If you're anything like me, you sit on the couch and watch bad movies. This position and activity lends itself to napping and snacking. Before the race, I was eating on par with my exercise. My stomach didn't get the memo that it was time to back off. I gained weight. I never actually want to do chores. As for the blog half-assing... that speaks for itself.

Luckily for me and my loved ones, I have found the cure. Should you find yourself in a PISSy situation, here's what you need to do.

Part 1- Watch this semi-NSFW video (turn down the volume if you're at work or in the presence of innocent/ judging ears).

Part 2- Go for a swim, bike and/ or run. Force it. You don't need to go hard. You just need to go.

Part 3- Sign up for races. Nothing cures PISSy-ness like spending money on sport.

I did all of these and I am seemingly cured. Since my condition, I have done 3 races (race reports soon to follow) and I signed up for a half-distance event in late September. I am training again. Losing weight. I have a plan for a 2013 IM.  I have focus. (Jury's still out on the blog.) I am no longer PISSy.

As with most Post ___ Disorders, PISSy can take over your life if left untreated. Everyone will know you as the PISSy guy/ gal. They'll avoid you as who wants to socialize with someone who is PISSy. They'll say things behind you back that they think you cannot hear, like, "Don't mess with him/ her, they're PISSy." Of course, these acts will only make your syndrome worse. You could slip into a state of depression. Then, you'd be PISS'D. And no one wants that.

2012 IMLP- The Run

I've had a decent Ironman swim. I've had a decent Ironman bike. Just for the record, I have never had a good Ironman run. Ever. Period. End of story.

In the past, I have known going in to the run that it was going to be a challenge. Sort of like a preemptive excuse. The first year was, well, my first year. Or I knew I was under trained. One year I hurt my quad playing softball before the race. I no longer play softball. Then it was a knee problem. Or I pushed too hard on the 2nd loop of the bike. It was always something.

This year, I had no real excuses. I did my training. I had no injuries. When I got done with the ride, my legs felt great. My spirit was high. I am ready for this run. I am a moron.

For those of you who don't know, the run leg is 26.2 miles. The distance alone is a feat. To say that it becomes a challenge after a 112 mile bike ride is an understatement. The ideal way to handle the run is slowly. Like, tortoise slow.

I have gone out too hard in the past. In Lake Placid, running too hard early on is incredibly easy. There are a couple of nice downhills right at the beginning. Running downhill is a cakewalk but it can wreak havoc on your quads. I needed my quads. So, I kept it slow. As I was starting my run, I had a mantra, "Control, control. You must learn control." (I even used my best Yoda voice.)

About 0.25 miles into the run, I got passed by a pro on his 2nd lap. It was Pete Jacobs, who was sitting comfortably in 2nd place. I read about pro triathletes and I see their pics (Pete is on the left). The media coverage doesn't really do them justice. Pete is a big guy. I stand at 5'10 and he towered over me. He was a lean, muscular man and I was envious as to the ease of his gait. Quick, I had to say something. Now, I'm kind of a tool. Perhaps I was low on blood sugar (completely plausible after that bike ride). All I could think of was, and this is a direct quote I promise, "GO GET 'EM, DAWG!"

I assumed that he was in a zone and immune to the nonsensical gibberish being spewed from fans, even if they are in the race. Nope. Pete actually responded to me. And what came out was just as much of a surprise as his stature. "Naw. He's way to far ahead," said Pete with a dismissal smile and a wave of his hand. Holy crap. I just had a mini conversation with a pro. He addressed me personally, after I called him 'Dawg." His thick Aussie accent only deepened the surprise of the moment.

In seconds he was gone and I was left with, "Control, control. You must learn control." I trudged on down the hill at about 1/10th the speed of the mighty Pete. After the gradual decline, we turned right and hit the real downhill. Called Mill Hill, it's rather steep and hurts going both up and down. We rolled through the small villa. Then hit the second big hill, which is unnamed to the best of my knowledge (although I'm sure that some of the athletes have given it plenty of names, most of which aren't PG enough for this blog). In the pic at the right, you can see a bridge at the end of the hill, this marks a left hand turn and the 2 mile mark. This far, my mantra is working. I am still feeling great.

There's something about an Ironman that removes you from the reality in which the rest of the world lives. You are so focused and intent on reaching your goals that you miss out on some of the real wonderful things in life. Lake Placid is a stunning place. Running technique has you focused on the ground roughly 20 feet or so in front of you. Once you make that left hand turn, all you have to do is point your head up and you are graced with this:

On your left is a farm that rescues horses and nurtures them back to health. Out in the distance is some breathtaking views of the Adirondack Mountains. They are dotted with the beautiful blue sky and fluffy white clouds. It really is a shame that many people miss this, including myself.

Shortly after entering this section of the road, I had another pro encounter. This time is was with the 3rd place bloke, named Romain Guillaume. He snuck up behind me just like any competitor. And, just like the tool I am, I ran with him. I was running with a pro. He is the human photo negative of Pete. Romain is small, light, almost elven in his silent way of running. He was clipping nicely at around a 7:15 minute mile pace. This is certainly within my skill set, at least in the short term. I decided to hang out with Romain for about 1/10th of a mile or so. The reason, the Finisher Pix guy was just up ahead. You can spot him easily as he's the dude sitting in the middle of the road with a camera. I was about to get my mug taken with a legit athlete.

I ran with him step by step. I tried to enlist him in conversation. Alas, he no speak English. See, he's from France. Had I done my research ahead of time, I would have known this and spoken to him in French. Even if I had picked the correct language, I doubt I'd have gotten much chatter out of him. He was focused on his race, probably missing the scenery, and definitely annoyed that some doofus refused to back off. Luckily for him, the picture guy was just up ahead and there was another runner on the course. Since pic guy was in the middle of the road, the 3rd guy (left side of the pic on the right) had to move out of the way. He moved right into my running path and forced me to slow. Dammit. He photo bombed my shot with Romain.

That move was a blessing in disguise. I needed to reduce my speed. "Control, control. You must learn control." Yoda was still displeased with my decision. I slowed from a near 7 minute mile to my pre-planned 8:30. Life was good.

At one point during the run, I was trudging along and I was passed by another runner. This is/ was/ will not be anything new. In the spirit of triathlon, running is easily my weakest link and therefore I will get passed. I was diligently running the tangents on the curves of the road and some dude ran by. For the most part, triathletes are the greatest people on Earth (just under the volunteers). This guy was no different. He shouted out words of encouragement as he flashed by. Actually he said, and I quote verbatim as his words are forever emblazoned on my mind, "Wow, it looks like you are out for just another Sunday stroll."

And ya know what, he was right. I was 5 miles into the run, had 21 miles left and repeating the mantra "Control, control. You must learn control" thinking that I had solved the problem. I was just out for a Sunday stroll. My pace was slower than normal. My spirits were high. I was still feeling great. I was enjoying the scenery. We were on a road. Near a river. Hence "River Road". Get it. I did. It really is a good place to run.

The turn around is near mile 6. I got to undo all of the doing I had just done. No problem. I was following my hydration and nutrition plan. I was controlling the pace. Everything was in place until mile 9. Here's where the fun started...

Most muscles in your body do work by contraction. The opposite of work is called relaxation. Should a muscle contract on its own, viola, muscle cramp. Every now and then, my quads would cramp up. Then, I would yell at them. Cramps would go away. We continued this for a mile or 2. I was now at mile 9 on the run.

While the striated muscle that lined either side of my femur was trying to decide how they felt about my continued forward progression, my sphincter muscles were making decisions of their own. The human body has several sphincter muscles, mostly associated with your gastrointestinal (GI) tract. When contracted, a sphincter muscle closes a tube. When relaxed, it opens a tube. The most famous of these sphincters, the anal sphincter, is a really great insult. And, starting at mile 9, it started insulting me.

"Control, control. You must learn control" started to take on completely new meanings for this run. My comfortable pace had slowed to an uncomfortable squeeze. There are aid stations at every mile on the run. I successfully hit the porta potty at mile 9, mile 10, and mile 11. Stopping in the middle of a run for a bathroom break wreaks havoc on your average pace time. My chance for a PR was starting to slip into blue sanitary liquid.

Not to be outdone, my esophageal sphincter joined the fun. This is the muscle that keeps the stomach closed off from the esophagus. Translation: I now wanted to hurl. My body was looking for an excuse to halt my forward progress. When the leg muscles failed, the body sent the army from behind. When that failed, it sent the forces from within. My spirits were down. Way down.

Despite my discomfort, I kept going. However, I needed a new mantra. "Control, control. You must learn control," was not as inspiring as it once was. I changed to, "Running, even slowly, is better than walking." My 8:30-9:00 minute pace had gone to 10:30-11:00 pace. I was happy. Why? Because, "Running, even slowly, is better than walking." (I'm starting to buy into this positive thinking thing.)

I ran- slowly- for most of the way up. Sure, the stomach was rebelling. The bowels completed the GI pressure. The Ironman is more than just a swim, bike, run. It is an obstacle in which many small decisions add up to enormous success. Or enormous failure. I was still hopeful for success. Granted, I was sweating profusely as compared to my effort. But, I was making forward progress, which at this point was all that mattered.

Near the halfway point, there is a special needs bag drop. What seemed like 85 hours earlier (really it was only 8 at this point), I dropped off a medium-sized white bag labeled with my race number and stuffed with 3 gels and a pair of socks. My feet were sloshed in my own perspiring excrement. I was feeling miserable. I wasn't hungry. I thought I would get salvation in some dry footwear.

There are a bunch of volunteers manning the special needs area and 2 of such (maybe I looked desperate) coddled my every need. They reached into my bag and removed my items while I sat down on the ground. Please understand that sitting during an Ironman is a very bad idea. Very bad. I had 127 miles on my legs. You can only imagine how sweet the sit felt, even if it were on rough asphalt. I instantly felt like getting up was not an option. Luckily the volunteers were as motivating as they were helpful.

I removed my left sock. Much to my amazement, the lady volunteer stuck out her hand as if I were going to hand my disgusting remnant of a foot covering to her. I couldn't do it. No matter how much she insisted that it was no bother to her, I refused to allow her to handle this item. Human decency must have its limits. I placed my stinky in the bag myself, donned my left sock and reapplied my shoe. It was time to do the right. As I removed my right shoe, I started crying.

Remember when I told you about involuntary muscle contraction? Well, my right leg decided to prove science correct. The entire gastrocnemius muscle, AKA the calf, decided that super-extra, involuntary contraction was the best route, while I'm sitting on the ground. I stretched my leg. I rubbed my calf. It felt like a solid brick. I still refused to give my dirty sock to the volunteer despite my pain. I pocketed my gels and tried to stand. Nope. Back down for another round of "Rub out my pain". The volunteers, bless their hearts, had no idea what to do with me. I didn't know either. I tried to stand one more time, with the assistance of my 2 newest best friends, this time successful. I tried to put weight on my right leg with much less success. I limped on.

For the third time during the race, I needed a new mantra. "Running, even slowly, is better than walking," didn't seem to apply anymore. I couldn't run if you paid me. I had 13 miles left to go. I couldn't walk. I couldn't eat. I had a constant urge to poop. I had to make a decision whether or not to continue. I was in the most convenient place to stop, roughly 3/4 of a mile away from transition. There I could find medical assistance. There I could find comfort. There I could find an end to my misery. Dropping out was a real consideration at this time.

Then, I looked about 10 feet to the north. Between the place where I limped and Mirror Lake was the incoming bike lane. I had traveled this path on my bike roughly 2 hours ago. There were still people biking in from the course. Not just a couple of people, but many of people. They were smiling as if they were happy to be done with the hills, which is probably really close to reality. They weren't giving up. Neither was I. I made the decision right there that I was going to finish this, no matter what my body told me.

I started walking. I mean hobbling. As a science guy, I know how to conduct an experiment. My goal was to answer this question: How can I orient my legs most efficiently whilst experiencing the least pain? I tested several different hypotheses until I found the one that worked the best. This process took a couple of miles. I didn't mind as I was heading back downhill for round 2 on the run course. My right calf, once every 100th step or so, felt kinda alright.

It was also during this time that I experimented with different food stuffs on the course. The Ironman aid stations are a catered buffet. They have water, gels, ice, fruit, pretzels, cola, cookies and probably more stuff that I can't remember. I was looking for something that didn't make my tummy hurt so that I can get some calories in me. I tried some pretzels. Failed. I tried some oranges. Failed. I tried some Perform. Failed. I tried some grapes. Failed. I tried just plain water. Success- until you realize that h-2-o has no calories. By this time, it was getting later in the race and they were ready to pass out the chicken broth. Success- until you realize that chicken broth has little to no calories.

Now that I had something in my stomach that didn't make me want to puke, I was able to look around and start appreciating the race again. My body had mostly become numb to the discomfort. Running still seemed to be out of the question but walking seemed manageable. I noticed that there were several others with similar race strategies. Meaning, I was surrounded by many other walkers. And almost all of them were faster than me. Even in the world of the walkers I am pokey. I didn't care. I had a new mantra, "I'm going to enjoy myself."

I did happen to slowly pass exactly 1 person- Tony. He was from the New England area and was a slower walker than me. He told me, during our time spent together, that he had a knee problem and didn't want to push it.  We hung out for the next 6 miles. I slowed to his walking pace and couldn't have been happier.

We worked the crowd. Shared some laughs. Thanked the volunteers. We walked slowly. I had completely forgotten how much I hurt. Funny how sharing your misery will do that for you. Only, I wasn't miserable. "I'm going to enjoy myself," held true for me.

Tony had some great ideas which never came to fruition. All of them involved running. For example, he would say, "Let's try running at _____." (Insert sign/ special needs/ turn around cone.) We never did. We kept on walking, joking, and enjoying.

After starting the run in 228th place, I dropped down to 1212th. That means nearly 1000 people passed me on the run. Ouch had a second meaning. My finish time was a Banter slowest 13:38.

I had learned a new appreciation for the people who walk long distances. It is HARD. I would much rather run the marathon than walk it any day. I did walk the mile in someone else's shoes and I didn't like it. But, I did finish the race. I did enjoy myself. I am once again, and always, an Ironman.

2012 IMLP- The Bike

After getting passed by fellow Rochestarian (seriously, that's what they call people from here) turned Pro Jennie Hansen, I ran towards transition. In enter the chute and find my bag.

Here's the bag system: Your "bike bag" has all of the stuff you need on the ride. In my bag, I have a helmet, sunglasses, race belt (complete with race number firmly attached), cycling gloves, and shoes. All gear were placed in my helmet which was placed on top of my shoes. Plastered to the bottom of the bag was my chamois butter, AKA crotch cream. I, of course, needed to know none of this. In the changing tent, they have hired the most wonderful valets to help dress/ undress/ redress you. I refer to these people as "The Most Awesome People on Earth" but officially they are called volunteers. I basically reclined on my plastic, rental fold-up chair and let Mr. Awesome do most of the work. He dumped out my bag, placed the helmet on my head, handed me my glasses and gloves.

Much to my disappointment, he refused to apply the chamois butter. In his defense, he did accept the task of taking all of my swim gear and placing it in the bike bag. Further, he did this as I ran out of the changing tent with my hand down my pants.

Once in a while, a different Awesome Person will have your bike waiting for you as you run by. No such luck for me. I was stuck finding my own bike. Luckily, it was racked near the end cap making it a rather benign experience. By the time I got to my bike I was well lubed, had my helmet chin strap buckled, and had donned my gloves. My bike nutrition was already on the bike. My water was filled up. I was ready to ride.

The initial part of the course it treacherous. It is very downhill with sharp turns giving you a slalom-like feel. The first year I did this (wow, back in 2007), I did this stretch in my aerobars. Either I am smarter or more of a coward, but I just won't do that now. I stayed firmly on the pursuit bars until I made my way into calmer waters.

As you can see, the initial downhill portion doesn't last very long. Some of the roughest climbs are placed early on in the ride. Many people have a habit of feeling fresh and excited during this stretch, which ends around the 8 mile mark. I swallowed my ego and let these people pass me. I decided that a good spin would serve me well in the long run. I stuck to my race plan, which was to attempt a 5:45 in the ride. I had lots of time to kill.

If you look at the map, find the word "Olympic" and follow it down to "Keene". Then, look up at the hill profile to the spot where the hill bottoms out. That's an 8 mile stretch of virtually no pedaling and super high speed. I reached a top speed of 48 mph on this stretch. This includes a headwind attempting to slow me down.

At the town of Keene, we take a left hand turn and get back to reality as compared to the average triathlon course. It is mostly flat with a few rolling hills. On race day, this meant a tailwind. There's nothing greater than a sweet tailwind. In regular triathlons/ training rides, I average around 20-22 mph. Between Keene and Jay, I averaged roughly 23.5 mph. I am not that fast. This was further proved by the fact that I was being passed by many, many people.

What helped me out was athlete number 755, Erica. She passed me during this stage but ever so slightly. Now, I'm a stickler for the rules. Triathlon rules strictly forbid drafting and "you must maintain a 3 bike-length distance between you and the hottie in front of you" (verbatim).
Erica was traveling at a pace in which I could handle and I did not mind, ahem, hanging out at 17 feet behind.

Erica was perfect in many ways, however, the Banter was able to pass and out climb her. See, after the town of Jay, you reach a town called Upper Jay. You pass this town, follow the Au Sable River and come back to the town of Upper Jay. I am a firm believer that this town is poorly named. It is at the bottom of the hill. It marks the "ascent". This picture doesn't do the initial climb justice. What you are supposed to see is a 8-10% grade climb that endures for the about the next 2 miles. Everyone on the course, except for maybe the most skilled of climbers, is in their smallest gears and still pedaling hard. I was no exception. Still, I forced myself not to kill the pace and tried to spin at as comfortable of a pace as I could.

Working in my favor, I believe, was my cycling endurance. We, as a group, had already completed about 35 miles at this point and had done a fair bit of climbing. I maintained my patience and refused to hammer. Yes, people were passing me. Yes, there was an entire peloton of riders that I refused to join. Yes, I maintained my regular nutrition and hydration plain. I was, thus far, having a good ride.

At some point between Jay and Upper Jay, I had this though, "I'm riding on borrowed energy." See, I'm a pseudo-science geek. I know that elementary physics has this thing called the "Law of Conservation of Energy". Basically, it states that what goes up must come down. The problem is that I already went down. The down portion was expressed as Kinetic Energy, AKA all of that speed. The Law requires that I must give it back. The climbs are Mother Nature's way of restoring the balance.

Well, the 2 miler from Upper Jay to the town of Wilmington was just the tip of the ice berg. Remember, I had an 8-mile drop at the beginning of the ride. That vertical distance must be restored and I'm six miles in the red.

At the town of Wilmington, the nice profiles of the Adirondack Mountains, should you care to look around. (Here is one of my favorite landscape pics taken from a small bridge in Wilmington.) Seriously, people miss the beauty of the world when they are caught up in the Ironman. Pitty.

Even worse is the fact that this is where the pain starts. From that pic back to downtown Lake Placid is roughly 11 miles. Almost all of them are uphill. On race day, exactly all of them were against the wind. All of that speed I had gained on the downhill and flats was about to cash in on my legs.

To make matters worse, this is also the worst stretch of road for smooth pavement. Not only are we going uphill, but we are in a section of road that I lovingly refer to as the "CrotchiNator". It's sort of like the Terminator but exclusively focused on your perineum. There are obstacles of all kinds. Potholes? Check. Grooves in the pavement? Check. Expansion cracks every 10 yards? Check. Any stretch of road that is smooth for more than 100 yards? Nope. It's figuratively insult to injury. I repeat my cycling mantra and spin on.

There are some cues that the hills are coming to an end. First, there are these hills called the Cheeries and the Bears. I'm not sure why they have those names but they are obvious. There are 2 Cheeries; Big Cheery and Little Cheery. There are 3 Bears: Mamma Bear, Baby Bear, and Papa Bear. Papa Bear marks the last major hill before you hit town. It looks like this.

As you can see, the road is less than could be desired. The hill just keeps going. Worse, the hill doesn't end at your sight limit. There is a sharp right hand turn and the hill continues to go up. On the positive side, the are people. Like real Homo sapiens. Lots of people line the street giving you a Tour de France feel. All of them are singularly rooting for you to make it up over the incline and to complete your journey. It's easy to get lost in the moment.

Lap 2 is where everything calms down. Except for the wind. Meteorology 101- surface winds can be caused by uneven heating of the Earth's surface. As the sun increases in the sky, uneven heating increases. Therefore, more wind. More wind equals slower speeds.

To make matters worse, the winds were in our faces on the downhills. Free speed just got a little less, um, free. The upside- the wind was pushing us on the flats. The flat section is between Keene and Jay. The Au Sable River- East Bank is on our right. This is now the 3rd quarter of the ride. Life is good.

For all practice purposes, Jay is not a good sight. That town marks the ascent. It sucks the first time around. On round 2, the legs are more tired. They are not dead, but the dagger has been inserted. As the course turns around to head back into Placid, the winds smack you in the face. While going uphill. The dagger twists.

Road conditions still suck

I have bonked at this stage in the past. Not today. I'm, oddly feeling great. Granted, I'm not going very fast. At one point, a dude fly fishing on the West Bank, while wearing full blown hip-waders, may have actually walked past me. I didn't mind. I have studied this course and race extensively and I know that there is a marathon to follow these hills and crappy road. Having made numerous mistakes on this portion of the ride, I sat in. Spin spin spin. At no point during the ride did I feel like I was pushing. I kept everything under control, just like I planned.

As I came back into town, I was greeted by all of the crowds. And, for the first time in the day, I got to see the Wife and dogs. I missed her on the first time around. She yelled as she hung out around Mirror Lake. With all the athletes, spectators, and commotion, the dogs were as excited as I've seen them on race day (see photo to the left).

My goal for the ride was a 5:45. I came in at a comfy 5:55. The winds slowed me down that much. The highlight was that I felt better than ever. I had dropped from 143rd place to 228th place, which I find completely unfathomable. There were at least 100 people that passed me in the peloton on on lap 1. Other than Erica, I can't remember passing another person myself. Yet, the data doesn't lie. I was poised for a great race indeed.

Next comes the real challenge- the run.

2012 IMLP- The Swim

The day starts off pretty early. Nutrition needs for an Ironman are exorbitant. It's not really about how much you can eat as it is about how much you can absorb. For full breakfast absorption, you need about 3-4 hours of lead time for the food to make it through your stomach, into the intestine, and out into the blood. This means a wake up call at 3:00. I actually made it out of bed by 3:15.

With breakfast fermenting in my belly, the hopes of gastric emptying firmly on my shoulders, I did some pre-race couch sitting. I put in a movie and sucked on my water bottle as hydration is also important.

Upon making my way to the swim start, I stopped off at transition. Here I pumped up my tires, dumped some fluid in my bottle, and started up the Garmin. This year for swag, they handed out a transition backpack. I stuffed unpacked my morning clothes bag, consisting of my wetsuit, cap, goggles, and body glide, and stuffed in my transition bag. Standing mostly naked in the morning dew, I racked my bag and headed on down to special needs (a 0.25 mile walk).

On the way down, I found the Wife, who was on the wrong side of the path. Should she have been on the left side of the chute, we would have had the chance to walk together. Alas, the right side was crowded with no real way to make across. I walked alone amongst 2000 of my soon to be competitors.

The pros went off 10 minutes ahead. Their gun fired and I had not entered the water. I waited on the beach. Once you enter the water, you are stuck treading until your race starts. I had no intention of warming up that much. Another couple minutes standing in my wetsuit seemed better than exchanging elbows and heels with my closest neighbors. To remind you, here's what the swim course looks like.

When some undetermined switch flipped in my head, I entered the drink and made my way over to my usual starting position. I tend to hang out about 10 feet back of the start line and 5 feet off the dock. This is a very crowded area and quite aggressive. I don't mind. Plus, I am directly underneath of the IronVoice, Mike Reilly. That's the guy who typically does all of the announcing and talks for about 19 hours on IM day. He is beloved by many, including myself. He didn't even look in my direction.

The gun went off for us age groupers at 7:00 am. And by gun, I mean cannon (literally). There are about 10 people with immediate access to my body with my extended water family reaching into the triple digits. A split second after the boom, we all go from vertical treading to horizontal swimming. This takes up valuable liquid space, which Mirror Lake does not have. We are immediately in peril. The cage match lasts for another few minutes as athletes garner for position and try to find their pace.

Having been through the scrum in the past, I immediately make it past the dock and veer left. Technically, we are encouraged to stay to the right. I would estimate that 2000 out of the ~2800 athletes heed this advice. Others, like me, know that there is calmer water on the inside. The rules do not forbid swimming in this area, only encourage the other area. The rules specifically state that we must swim around the end buoys. I know this and I do this. At the end of the turn around, I merge back to the left hand side again and continue my tour through the waters.

Here's a short video showing what the swim looks like from this year's race. I think it captures the serenity of the morning, with the sun nestled comfortably behind some clouds. You can see the pointy end of the swimming arrow followed by the masses. If I had to guess, I'm somewhere between the pointy end and the main mass of swimmers.

 

I came out of the water for the first lap in just under 29 minutes. From there we have to physically get out of the water, run across the beach, and get back in. Lap 2 is a little bit longer because now we have to swim the length of the dock and make a left hand turn before getting back onto the course. Meanwhile, the clock ticks on.

I expect to have contact on the first lap. I also expect that the contact lessens on the second lap. This is what happened with one exception. There was this woman swimming immediately to my right. Remember that I am swimming on the inside. Also to my right are the guide buoys. There are about 10 of these buoys on each length. Well, Miss Swimmer needed to avoid these buoys. She had 2 options: swim left or swim right. If she choose right, that meant getting involved into the main wrestling match, from which there is little hope of returning. If she choose left, she banged into me. She choose me every single time. I suppose I should be honored.

Once in a while, I would try to lose her. On one such occasion, I surged to try and get in front. She saw this move and surged with me. Another time, I slowed to maybe get behind her. Nope. She also slowed, plus there were other swimmers on my feet who were none too pleased with the new pace. I resigned to my fate of having this mystery woman brush against me every 50 yards.

My second lap was predictably a little bit slower by about two minutes and twenty seconds. Lap 2's official time was 31:04. My total swim time was 59:50, which is about average for a Banter swim time. I was in 143rd place at the time.

I got out of the water and headed over to the strippers. Strippers are volunteers that help you out of your wetsuit. Basically, they work in pairs. You peel yourself out of the suit to your butt. You find a couple of nice people, run up to them, and sit in front of their feet. They grab your suit and synchronously yank the suit off in one full heave. That's the theory anyway. On race day, my suit once again failed to make it over my right heel. I will definitely be cutting that little bugger before my race.

I also happened to notice that I exited the water with a couple of lady pros. This is the first of several professional encounters during the race. The pros look just like everybody else on the course. But, they are clearly distinguishable by the big letter "P" on their calf. In contrast, the rest of the riff raff (like me) have our age plastered in permanent marker. Mine said 38 (even though I am only 37).

Upon a further glance, I saw that the ladies were none other than Jessie Donovan (who would later on actually WIN the race) and Jennie Hansen. Jennie is from Rochester (here's a link to her blog), a link to her IMLP race report (still no mention of me) and she is the Awesome Chick that I have written about in the past. Not surprisingly, she has gone pro and would finish in 2nd place in her first IM attempt. Awesome chick indeed!

Here's a short video of me running from the water exit, down the path, to the transition area. I'm the ugly, simian looking bloke in a white shirt. You can see Jennie passing me about halfway through the video. She's a bit shorter than me and wearing a bluish shirt. She zoomed right by adding unnecessary credence to her professional status.

Up next, I'll show you the bike course and then tell the story.

Ironman Syracuse 70.3- The Bike

When last we left our hero, me, in the IM Syracuse 70.3, I was struggling with some volunteers to get my leg out of my wetsuit. With that problem solved, I was free to run the roughly quarter mile from the beach to my bike.

Just in case you are wondering, that distance doesn't count. This is one of those lousy nuances of the sport. The technical rules state that the race distance does not include transitions. Since there is a timing mat just outside of the beach, you are officially in transition a few short steps from the water. All of the distance that you have to travel to find your bike is not measured. The time it takes you to get there still counts against you. The amount of energy expended still works against you. It is a phantom effort as it never gets recorded.

In the Transition Area
I knew right where to find my bike. One of my many analities is that I will do a short practice through transition. First, I will look at my bike and the surrounding area. I am searching for landmarks that will help identify position. Here's a pic that I took from the vantage point of my bike:

If you look closely, you'll see a white flag-thingy. This served as a good marker as there was very little chance of the medical area being re-routed mid race. I could use that flaggy thing for both transitions with a high level of confidence that it would help me out.

Upon arriving at my bike, I followed my own T1 tips and hand things set up for me.

I have my sunglasses on top of my race number inside of my helmet. I would normally have my race number already on my body but the WTC tends to have weird race bibs that are not very waterproof. I put the sunglasses on top of the bib purposely. The reason? Paper weight. Should a nice gust of wind happen by and my number be on top, it could fly away. Now, they are firmly anchored underneath 2.3 ounces of plastic. That should hold em.

I ran to my bike (no walking for me this time). I draped my wetsuit over the bike rail (the next 2 slots were no-shows giving me ample elbow room). Glasses--> Number--> Helmet--> Strap--> Go. I believe I made it out rather efficiently. I'd like to give you more data but the official race results, for some reason, are not available as of this posting.

On to the Bike
The ride starts off rather quickly. There is a nice downhill. If you plan on doing this race in the future, do not immediately drop into aero. There is a set of railroad tracks that deserve your attention and you'd be best served to be more stable. The mile after that is smooth and fast. Then, you make a sharp right, go once more over those same RR tracks and start the ascent.

You go up for the next 11 or so miles. This is slow and arduous. However, for those of you who took middle school science, you would know that you are loading your bike with Gravitational Potential Energy.  This means that for each slow, painstaking pedal stroke, the energy from your muscles actually gets stored in the bike. At mile 12, I opened the floodgate and that energy came pouring back out as kinetic energy, AKA speed. And, it kept coming and coming.

Last year, I had made a shot at 20 mph. I semi-succeeded. This year, I believe myself to be stronger and faster on the bike. This is one of those opportunities to test hypotheses.

Here's a side-by-side comparison of the 2011 (on the left)  and 2012 races through mile 12.

Really, at this point it was too early to tell. I do know that my perception of the hills this year told me that I was in better shape. I think the evidence starts to be apparent at mile 9. Miles 9-12 were much faster this year than last year. This trend continued to show itself through the data for the rest of the ride.

My ending pace for 2011= 19.9 mph. My ending pace for 2012= 20.2 mph. This includes a rather slow mile 55-56. The reason for my drop in speed was due to the run course change. The run course merged with the bike course in the last mile. The cycling portion of this road was reduced to about 6 feet of space sequestered by cones. The cones on the right granted runners space. The cones on the left granted motorists space. We were stuck in the middle and in a "no-pass zone". I was a slave to the people in front of me. No matter. I was coming in to port ahead of schedule and taking the opportunity to enjoy the scenery and prepare for the run.

So, I was finally able to break my coveted 20 mph barrier for the first time in a longer than Olympic triathlon. I had a nice swim. I had a good ride. I was ready for the run.

Stick around, as I've got some interesting stories to tell you about that experience.

WW-Reasons Chuck Norris is not an Ironman

I firmly believe that everyone fits in to one of 2 groups: the Triathlete or Soon-to-Be Triathletes. That's right! You are all SBR'ers or will be. It's just that awesome of a sport for you to pass up.

Let me be clear: All people on the planet have to potential to swim-bike-run.

Except for 1: Chuck Norris.

There is a simple flaw in the character of Chuck.

Now, before Chuck comes and hunts me down (and it's well within his rights to do so). There are reasons Chuck Norris has not done an Ironman or any other triathlon. When Chuck Norris tries the disciplines, there are, umm, complications.

It's not that he doesn't know how to swim nor that he won't. It's just that he has a hard time distinguishing between the water and the land.

When he rides his bike, the Chuck Norris cyclist is a target for motorists. It's just that he handles it a little better than most.

As far as running is concerned, there has never been any direct evidence of Chuck running. No pictures. No race results. He's just that fast. But, there has been some indirect evidence.

In the pic above you can see that he ran right down the middle of the road. Below is a spot where he shot a snot rocket, confirmed by DNA evidence.

Normally, this post would end here. As it happens, I am on summer break and have a little extra time on my hands. I am taking that time out on the blog, at least temporarily. So, continuing with the Chuck Norris theme, I bring you an amusing clip of Chuck reading some of his own facts:

Plus, I'm pretty sure that Chuck Norris doesn't have time for triathlon. He's constantly busy doing hero stuff, like stopping Hitler.

Even Hitler recognizes that Chuck Norris is a swimmer.

WW- Addiction

I have a friend who claims that I don't understand the emotional side of addiction. Every time we have this discussion, I mention 2 unrelated words combined together that scream addiction; Iron and man. If you do the Ironman just once, it's a lifetime experience. If you do it many times, you run the risk of foresaking everything that is important to you.

Training for triathlon is not the first time I've had an addiction. I used to lose sleep by playing video games. It started when I was a kid. No, I was not the first to flip Space Invaders, but I did rule the block in Megamania and RiverRaid. Long live Atari.

After we upgraded to the 2600, life got good. Eventually, we got the Commodore 64 and then the 64 which would become the 128 (assuming that we pressed the right button at start-up). There was a downward spiral through the early 90s which was highlighted by my Street Fighter II championship on my dorm floor.

After I got married, it was agreed that I would not purchase one of those gaming systems. No Wii. No Nintendo. X-box. This simple fact is probably the reason I'm still happily married (unsure about her level of happiness which is a completely different issue).

Thank god for the internet. Apparently, I can combine my age old gaming addiction with my replacement addiction of triathlon. I present:

Extreme Triathlon- The Video Game!
http://www.miniclip.com/games/extreme-triathlon/en/

With just a couple of key strokes, I can force my guy to swim.

What's nice about the swim is that it's super- realistic. No wetsuits. Boulders on the sidelines. And, large obstacles in the water, such as tree branches (or possibly full blown trees). Just like in real life, you have to press z to dive under the wood.

The transition is sequestered by USAT rules. Normally, you would find you bike sitting on it's kick stand (because $3000 carbon fiber triathlon bikes with aero wheels come complete with this assessory). Your helmet can be found on the ground. Mount and go.
 

While riding, follow these simple tips. Pedal. Don't tuck into aero unless you are going down hill. Avoid the many rocks, trees, oil slicks and other debris conveniently left on the course. Why the race directors chose not to clean the route is beyond me but I may be asking for my race fee back.

Back in transition, you are required to toss your helmet to the side. Racking your bike is simple; toss it on the ground. Maybe their bikes are better built than mine.

Running in the race is similar to the Steeplechase. Jump over stuff. Grab fluid along the way (absolutely necessary when competing in a 2 minute race). Running through large bushes and shrubs will slow you.

And, just like in real life... I suck.

Dreaming about LA

Now, I say to you today my friends, even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: - 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.'
-Martin Luther King, Jr

Happy Birthday, MLKII!

Taken out of context, that quote could be about triathlon (although I'm kinda glad it's not). In honor of his greatness, I had my own dream. Sure, it wasn't nearly as profound, moving, or intelligent as the good Reverend/ Doctor. But hey, who is? Anyone out there into dream analysis? Even if you suck at it, let me know what you think about this...

So, I enter this bar in what feels like New Mexico but is labeled as Texas. There's a buzz happening and a bunch of media-type people are getting ready for a press conference. Now, I have never been to a press conference, I have no idea what people do to get ready for a press conference, but those facts do not change the concept that the media-type people were definitely getting ready for a press conference.

I am wearing my Ironman New Mexico finisher's t-shirt. Even in the dream state, my conscious self is surprised by this fact. I rarely wear a finisher's shirt in public. I have never done an Ironman outside of Lake Placid. And there is no IMNM. The dream just made it up.

I mosey on up to the bar because there are not many places where moseying is appropriate. When given the opportunity to mosey, you'd be wise to seize it. I take a seat next to some dude in a yellow shirt who is surrounded by a couple of assistants. A big shot. Alpha dog. I order up a Jack on the Rocks. This is my go-to drink when I'm trying to be a man or hanging out with college idiots. Since I haven't had the need for either manship or college kids, it's been a while since Uncle Jack has visited my palate. But, there's another Alpha in the room and the male ego gene dictates that there can be only one top dog. It might not be me but I'm gonna put myself in position just in case. Real men are judged by what they drink, right?

The man with the assistants is on my right. His peeps are buzzing around him like a pair of gnats. One of them has a clipboard and fervently scribbles notes. Seriously? It's a bar. What would possibly be of noteworthiness here? The man is clearly annoyed with them as well. He shoos them off and they maintain a hovering pattern about 10 feet away but ever vigilant in their attention. The man turns to me and I recognize him immediately. He is Lance Armstrong. I know that Lance is from Texas, adding another layer of truth to my otherwise fabricated REM state.

Lance orders up a white wine spritzer. Ha! I knew something bad happened when you lose a testicle (you know, except for the obvious). I finally have the evidence. He and his girly drink turn to me and he looks at my shirt. For some reason, he now sees me as a confidant. The IMNM shirt has put him at ease. He casually turns and leans his back on the bar. I follow suit, like we've done this before. In fact, it seems like he is more excited to see me that I am him. This is completely divergent to what would happen in real life. I know beyond any reasonable doubt would be a bumbling idiot. I envision me saying things like, "Uh, hey Lance. Remember when you dated Sheryl Crow? That had to be cool." Or, "Do they give you a finisher's shirt or medal for the Tour de France? You gotta have at least 7 of them, right?"

Lance tells me that at today's press conference, he's gonna break the news that he's finally going to race Kona. I remain passive. There has been speculation that he's going to get back into triathlon on an annual basis since he retired from professional cycling. I'm pretty sure that he's done a few Xterra races (the off-road kind) but the tri people want him back on the road. Some want to know how he'd do against the big guns in an Ironman. Lance got his athletic start as a triathlete. He was usurped into cycling. He has retired and still rides. He's done a marathon (sub 3 hours at that). It seems only natural that he'd go back to his roots and tri again.

Inside, I am stewing but continue to hide it. I turn my back to the bar and mimic his position (ignoring the fact that I had already done this move earlier in the dream). I sip my Jack. "So, what to you think?" Glad he asked. Any involvement by Lance Armstrong in triathlon is bound to be good for the sport. Sure, there are some out there who think he's a dirty, doped-up, cheat poser. I'm not on that list. I'm also not in the Lance-is-a-God club. However, he is a proven endurance athlete and I think it would be kick-ass to race against him in any capacity. In my dream state, I'd know that I could beat him. In my reality state, I may not be fit enough to wipe his brow.

"Lance," I start (apparently we are on a first name basis. After all, I am drinking Jack), "You certainly have the right to race on the Big Island." Which is true. Lance could show up on race day and they'd probably waive the "No race day registration' rule for him. He wouldn't do that. Lance knows that marketing makes him money since he is no longer biking for cash. Any race director would swoon at the opportunity to advertise Lance in the starting line-up, including any race hosted by the WTC.

"However, there are some in the world of triathlon who would hate you more." I have no idea how many people in the tri-world hate him nor can I quantify the level of hatred these people have. The statement still stands.

"If you really wanted to announce something great and earn the respect of your triathlon brethren, you'd qualify." I believe this to be a true statement as well. There are some people who are above the qualification process. There are corporate slots. There are celebrity slots. Yet, the hard working blokes in the sport have to vie for a few hundred slots world wide. That is the main reason that IM Kona maintains its mystique. You have to earn your way in. I have been trying to earn my slot for years and have failed at each attempt. When famous people just walk-on, some feel slighted. Not me. He's not taking my slot. He's in a different age group this year. Still, if a guy like Lance Armstrong decided that he was going to prove that he had what it takes to earn a slot, my personal respect for him would increase dramatically. And, we all know that a guy like Lance wants nothing more than to gain the Banter's personal respect.

The gnat-like assistants make their way back to the bar. The one with compound eyes and antennae whispers in his ear. Useless gesture. It's my dream and I hear everything. It's time for the press conference. Lance puts his half-drunk white wine spritzer on the bar and pays for both his and my drink. I nod my approval and he winks at me. Suddenly, the bar takes on the appearance of a press room you see after a baseball game. He makes his way up to the press conference table and takes a seat. There's a logo draped over the front of the table. My guess is that it would normally say, "LiveStrong." It doesn't. It is just a red circle with the word "Lance".

"I'm here to announce that I will be competing in the Ironman New Mexico with the hopes of qualifying in my age group for the Ironman World Championships in Kona next October."

 
The phantom Uncle Jack had made its metabolic way through my system thus applying the necessary pressure to encourage consciousness. I was in a good mood.

Wacky Wednesday- Ironman Vids

I was recently at a professional development seminar hosted by none other than Pondering herself. She's rather smart, intuitive, and full of good ideas. In contrast, I'm old, crusty and have very little going for me. So when Pondering talks, I listen.

One of her topics was to introduce new and fresh ideas to get kids using technology in fun and motivating ways. She gave is lists chalked full of web-based possibilities. It was right around here that I stopped paying attention and started playing. We had a seminar which encouraged playing on the internet and I was hooked.

One of the sites she recommended was http://www.xtranormal.com/ where anyone can make a movie. While browsing this site, I had immediate flashbacks to something the BIL sent me a while ago. Basically, he said to me in an email, "Ironman is a cult". Then he followed it up with this video.

To be honest, I had not seen this one before. I had seen it's cousin, appropriately titled, "Ironman." It is the reason that, in certain cults circles, the words, "But I will be an Ironman" cause fits of laughter.

The sad thing is that my students don't believe me that I go to bed before 9:30 so that I can get up around 5:15 and train. At least I'm not as bad as this guy and yes, I will be an Ironman.

9 Months of Parallelism

Warning: This post is intended for mature audiences only. This pretty much means that even I will not be allowed to read it when it's over. Very little of it actually makes sense.

With the 2011 season officially over, it has become time to start working on 2012. My current 2012 race calendar has exactly 1 race, Ironman Lake Placid. There will likely be several more races added to the list. I generally don't dish out the cash for other races until January or February. Or really close to the early entry fee deadline. I already have a pretty idea of which races I'll be doing next year. But, I am a procrastinator when it comes registering for races too.

In order to effectively train for an IronDistance race, you first take a couple of weeks off at the end of your prior season to recharge the mental and physical batteries, heal up the gunk, and attempt to repair any relationship stress with the Wife. This is good advise for triathletes at all distances. You still have 50 weeks left in the year to be awesome. Just don't eat so much in your down time. (I, myself, struggle with this eating and control thing.)

Next, you start to plan out your season. The first order of business is to look at your A-race and count backwards. Ironman needs about 9 months of dedicated training. HIM should have 5. Olympic distance, around 3-4. Sprint distance requires about 15 minutes of dedicated training, at least 2 days prior to the event. Using these distance/ time recommendations, I started on race day 2012 and have counted back. Nine months equals October 24. That's the latest date I need to start training for a race that will happen in mid-summer next year.

Granted, I didn't make this up. Nine months is an actual recommendation by Friel. Having a few years of IM racing (although, I'm not sure that you can call what I do in the Ironman course 'racing'), it seems that 9 months is right on the cusp of readiness. Funny that when you take the most rewarding yet painful experience that I have and compare it to the most rewarding yet painful experience for the average mother, they are remarkably the same. Thanks to the internet for filling in some of the blanks in this post.

As a science teacher and lover of biology, I get to prepare my students for all sorts of life. One of my up and coming units is related to human development from conception to birth. As a male without children, I am an expert in this sort of thing. That doesn't stop me from researching in an effort to have the Internet try and teach me something. One can dream, right? In my digital meandering, I came across this site. Due to the pictures, I probably won't be showing this to my students in it's entirety (take note if you are at work). I might, but high school teachers students can be quite unpredictable.

As I read through the descriptions, I noticed how human development and Ironman training are almost exactly the same. Here are some salient points of both:

• When done correctly, they both take about 9 months start to finish
• They both start off easy and fun but get quite uncomfortable by the end
• They both really mess with your hormones, body image, and self-esteem

Here's a brief monthly breakdown of what you can expect if you are expecting. You can use the terms baby and Ironman-training interchangeably. Either way, your life is about to change.

9 Months Away from the Big Day- Conception
Wow, this is fun. And easy. You love doing it. In fact, you should do this again and again. Maybe you'll work in 2-a-days. You can't get enough. The endorphins are addicting. You don't mind the sweat, especially when you are in the middle of the act. Sure, it kinda smells when you are done but that's nothing that a quick shower won't cure. But, by week 3, you feel like you want to get sick.

8 Months Away from the Big Day- Morning Blues
Okay, something is just not right. You get up in the morning like before, but the spark is gone. Things are starting to look different, especially in the abdominal region and in your legs.  Outwardly, your body hasn't changed that much. Inwardly, it's a battlefield. Hormone levels are out of wack. Moods change quickly and awkwardly. The reality of the commitment hasn't fully sunk in.

7 Months Away from the Big Day- Coping
It's now mid-winter and getting out of bed for any reason is a challenge. You just want to lie here. Your body is weak from the changes and your energy levels are down. Your eating habits are changing. You have food cravings that you haven't had before. Your heart races even at low exertions.

6 Months Away from the Big Day- Showing
Even your friends and family are noticing that your body is different. For those that are not brave enough to ask, you hear the whispers. Some will blatantly ask you if your weight has changed. As you examine yourself in the mirror, you see why. Parts of you are obviously bigger than before. You may see stretch marks on certain areas.

5 Months Away from the Big Day- Movement
Things are starting to take shape. Even though your is heart still elevated, it's not that bad anymore. You can feel certain parts of your body move on their own, almost kicking, without any work from you. It's a very enjoyable time period.

4 Months Away from the Big Day- Taking Over
It is consuming your life. It is in control. Everything you do has potential consequences. Parts of your body are changing shape and color. You might actually freak out.

3 Months Away from the Big Day- Discomfort
It is putting more and more pressure on you. There is pressure on your lungs. Worse, your GI tract is out of order. Everything is building.

2 Months Away from the Big Day- Clumsy
Your muscles don't work the way they used to. Everything aches. Your back hurts. You are prone to snap. Your hands and feet might swell causing a need for new shoes. (Note: If I use 2011 as a parallel, this was when I developed my knee problem. The system works.)

1 Month Away from the Big Day- Calm before the Storm
Things are slowing down a bit. It has been putting severe pressure on your organs. You need to relax more. You are getting antsy and excited.

The Big Day
You made it after 9 months of processing and working towards this goal. People will inevitably ask you stupid questions like, "Are you ready?" No one, no matter how many times they've experienced it in the past, is ever ready. You go into it with wonder, doubt and mystery. Will it hurt? Yes. Will you suffer? Yes. And, the longer it goes on, the worse the pain gets. There are drugs that help out, but many opt out of the drugs (and some are blatantly illegal). All you can think about is push, push, breathe. Push, push, breathe. Would somebody please get me some ice and a glass of water, stat?! 

There is always this thought in the middle of the process when you will swear that you are never doing this again. Patience. Now is not the time to make any rash decisions. When it is over, you have a high. It is a feeling that no one can explain. You look at your prize and beam with pride. You did that. You had help along the way, but this is yours. You smile. You are happy.

The only real difference: In one situation, you get a baby. In the other, you get a finisher's medal. They are pretty much the same thing.