Extra Gravity Drag Training

Science has known for quite some time that mammals gain weight in the fall. As part of their natural energy cycles, hormonal changes are sparked by the decreasing available sunlight and falling temperatures to encourage the uptake of higher energy foods. Comparatively speaking, fat is physically superior as an energy storage unit. We've all (hopefully) seen the side by side glance of fat versus muscle/ protein. Proteins and carbs require a large volume of water to store them, making them dense and, therefore, heavy. Your body, recognizing the hardships of a long and grueling winter, opts to convert its excess units of heat into floatable fat molecules.

Just in case:

In most competitive swimming circles, the season is a fall and winter sport. That means coaches all around the world are getting their athletes at their most buoyant time. That extra buoyancy makes it more efficient for a swimmer to stay on top of the water and, consequently, easier to flow through the water. Contrary to popular belief, coaches hate this. Granted, they won't tell you directly. You have to pay attention to the indirect methods of communicating their disdain. They called it "drag".

Here are just a few ways that my swim coaches over the years have forced additional drag onto me and my swimming mates:

• T-shirts

  

  Wrong type of drag suit, coach

• Sweatshirts
• Second, and sometimes a third, swim suit
• Speedos with large mesh pockets (conveniently called 'drag suits')
• Shoes in the pool
• Boots in the pool
• Swimming with someone holding your legs
• Tying a bucket to your waist
• Tying a bungee cord to your waist and the other to the end of the lane
• Anyone got another favorite they'd like to add?

The concept was that if they could make your swimming hell harder during practice, then when you stripped down to your loin cloth made of spandex, you'd be able to swim even faster. Your arms would be so used to the extra drag that you'd just fly through the water. And you know what, for the most part they were right!

Cyclists are much better at playing the drag game than runners. They have race wheels for competitions and training wheels for the rest of the year. Training jerseys are the cycling drag suit equivalent. They have one helmet for daily use and fancy, aero-helmets for the show. Some go so far as to shave their arms and legs to save watts (a concept they stole from the swimmers, I might add). I could go on.

Most runners suck at the drag game. Perhaps Olympic level sprinters engage in considering aerodynamic clothing options. Some runners will train in their "normal" shoes and race in their "flats", citing weight differences as their reason. Note: the weight difference is about 4 total ounces. I've yet to read the impact of 100 grams of rubber might have on the overall speed. The problem with runners is that the move at relatively slow speeds to make any gains potentially gained by aero-tech virtually moot. Even worse if you have the run speed of a comatose box turtle; I.E. me.

Well, I haven't been running much lately. I have this annoying achilles tendon issue that's got some extraordinary hang time. I learned, from a hamstring issue last year, that coming back from an injury too quickly yields in yet more injury. So I'm taking it cautiously and waiting until I'm sure that training won't cause this particular issue to worsen.

My most recent selfie

Luckily, I have been eating more. One would think that it would be smarter to lose weight during periods of sloth. Well, and this comes as no surprise, I'm not that smart. Or, am I?

See- running is a weight to power ratio driven sport. Here's where the Extra Gravity Drag Theory takes form. As bipedals, for each stride of the run, the human body is launched from the ground and quickly falls back. In order to perform this task, the runner must overcome the force of gravity. Gravity, being one of the four fundamental forces of the universe (the others being the strong force, the weak force, and the call of a bag of chips), is an ever present bastard that continuously pulls a mass towards its center. Gravity doesn't care how much you weigh, it pulls you down just the same. But, your legs care a lot. The more body you carry, regardless of muscle or fat, the more your legs have to work to overcome the pull. That means it's easier for a lighter runner to cross the earth on 2 legs than it is for a heavier one.

Since there isn't much in the form of external drag for runners, I'm resorting to adding internal extra resistance in the form of blubber. In the near future, hopefully, I'll get back to logging miles. And when I do, I'll have to cart around all this extra luggage. Conveniently, I'll have all of the extra stored energy I could ever want. There'll be no excuses for being lazy, right? Come spring, which hits in early July in these parts, the days will get longer and warmer. If things go as planned (which they never do), I'll lose some pounds and running will magically become easy. That's the theory. Anyone want to join me in testing this idea?

Throwing in the Towel

Any boxing fans out there? Doubtful. Boxing, as a sport, is dying quickly. It's being replaced by more manly sports like Kickboxing, MMA, and watching other people play Fortnight on YouTube.

Any Rocky fans out there? Hell yeah! Everyone enjoys a good underdog story where, eventually, the hero faces a long-fought battle (complete with an impossible running scene) only to lose at the end. The story was so good that they had to make a sequel to let the hero win.

Well, this post doesn't start with Rocky I. Or Rocky II. Or Rocky III, which featured Mr. T as Clubby Lang (a fricken' great name for a antagonist if ever one was invented!). It begins with Rocky IV.

Rocky IV spent half of the movie following the previously beaten Apollo Creed (a fricken great name for a protagonist if ever one was invented!) in his quest to beat that commie Russian Ivan Drago. Well, Ivan (apparently) was on a better drug regime than the American (hard to believe). Rocky Balboa was watching the champ get pummeled by the great Red Hook. Other members of the entourage were calling for Rocky to throw the towel, which was a call from someone who's supposed to be on the good guy's team to end the match.

Spoiler Alert: Rocky never threw the towel and the champ died from his beating. Sad. On a happy note, it did leave the series a convenient opening to reboot the money machine several decades in the future, featuring the champ's son.

How does this relate to the Banter? The reigning champ (and I'm being generous here) is me and the commie bastard on high levels of steroids and giving me a beating that hits where the hurting's good is the 2019 race season. The season hadn't even started before I got my first big punch to the face, which manifested in a nice hamstring injury. Pow. Then I raced without adequate training. Bif. Then I raced again without adequate training. Sok. Then I raced again without adequate training. Blap.

It's taken its toll. Specifically it's smacking where it counts for me, in the run. Seriously, I haven't had  decent run since the day before the injury. That's going on nearly 6 months now. And when I mean a decent run, I feel like I've been digressing even more so than normal. Allow me to explain...

Take a gander at a recent run that clocked in a just over 4 miles for 33 minutes of running averaging an 8:14 pace. On paper, this looks promising, right?  When you look at the forest, you have to remember that there are trees. Glance at the data.

If you look at the elevation, you can see that it's stupidly flat. If you look at the pace, you'll notice that the pace is relatively consistent. Spoiler Alert 2: That's the ego talking there.

If you look at the heart rate and match it with the pace chart, you'll notice a few obvious anomalies. To count, you should see 6 of them, some closer to each other than others. Those are times when I stopped running. If I'm not running, the Garmin isn't running either. Those drops in data aren't really drops, that's the pansy taking over the body while the ego refuses to let me slow down. This was not a good run.

But, but, but... you should slow down. Yeah, no sh** Sherlock. I though of that. Here's a more recent 4 mile run for your viewing displeasure.

This run was also just over 4 miles. It took 36.5 minutes. It was also stupidly flat. It featured less incidents of pansy, only 4 of them this time. The average pace for this run was 8:53. I suppose that's a running step in the right direction but the notes on the run said that it felt like I was running directly into a heart attack, if the heart attack was announced with an asthma induced hyperventilation. It was not a good run under an aspect other than it was better than not running. This has been the norm of pretty much all of my runs for a very long time now.

This up and coming weekend, I have a race. I won't do well at this race, at least not according to my standards. On the digital paper, should you look at the results, you think that things didn't go so badly. That's okay. You and I can have different perspectives as to what is a good race for me. There's not much either of us are going to do to convince each other differently.

Upon conclusion of that race, I will be officially throwing in the towel on the 2019 race season and start my offseason prematurely.  A few honored and respected individuals immediately know what this means. Let me expand for the rest of you: I have another race in a couple of weeks at the 70.3 distance. I will not be doing this race. I have no desire to die a slow death. This was not an easy decision. In fact, it was one of the hardest decisions I've made in my triathlon career. I don't think I can handle yet another hard fought, painful race to be met with disappointing results. My psyche would rather recoup the losses than experience the what-ifs.

I plan on taking the time off. Regather my energies. Spending time with the Wife and the doggies. And coming back ready to rock to triathlon world with some performances that will make even the Banter proud. 2020 is the Ivan Drago rematch. I must break you.

IMCT 70.3(ish)- The Run

This is the conclusion of a 3 part series where I recap the shenanigans of my weekend at IMCT Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy. Part 1- The Swim can be found here. Part 2- The Bike can be found here.

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Allow me, if you will, to paint the daunting picture of the challenge that lied ahead. In mid April, I developed a hamstring injury. At first I thought it was something I could run through. Nope. At second I thought it was something I could take a couple of days off and get better. Nope. At third I thought I could take nearly 2 weeks off and get better. Nope. At fourth I thought I could take an entire month off and get better. This race was going to be the test that decided if the 4th hypothesis would be validated or refuted. To sum up, had only run twice in the past 45 days, for a grand total of 7 miles and my last run was roughly 1 month prior, to the day. To make the picture even worse, I wasn't much of a runner to start with.

In case you were brought here against your will but for some reason decided to stay anyway, allow me to explain. No, there is too much, let me sum up... 70.3 races typically feature a 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, and a 13.1 mile run.  IMCT Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy did not feature a 1.2 mile swim (in their defense, they really wanted to but Mother Nature had better ideas).  IMCT Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy did not feature a 56 mile bike. It was closer to 53.5 miles, which was pretty okay due to the ridiculously challenging hill profile. Well, IMCT Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy finally did something right in the form of the run distance. Just my luck.

When asked about my race goals, I had a clear picture of what I wanted to accomplish. I wanted to run without hamstring pain. That was it. I had predicted that I was going to be in a significant amount of discomfort on the run due to attempting a half marathon on no training. I was allowing myself to hurt pretty much anywhere with the exception of the back of my left thigh. And I had a strategy in place towards that end.

As I came out of transition, I was surprised as to how well I was actually feeling. I expected to be a bit more stiff due the crash while entering transition. I also feared that I over-biked. My bike plan allotted for about 215 watts (normalized for those who understand what that means). What I achieved was 229 watts. This translates to about 8% harder than I wanted and the 215 number was already at the top edge of what I was supposed to bike and feel good, according to science. As I started to run, I honestly felt like I could run, ya know, relative to myself anyway.

My run strategy was simple. Don't run too fast. (That was a joke and you were supposed to laugh. Running fast is never an option for me.) The concept remains, I needed to control the effort especially early on.

The hill profile was against me. The first mile was a nice, extended downhill. Downhills are good for speed, bad for leg injuries. The problem is that as you stride, your leading foot lands a couple of inches lower than it launched. Not only does this extend your leg a little further than normal, which can exacerbate a tight muscle, the extra vertical distance results in higher impact forces as your foot lands on the asphalt. I made it a point to stay nice and relaxed without attacking that section of the course.

It was obvious that I was the only one on the course with this strategy. As I controlled my descent, I got passed. And passed. And passed. The stream of people who ran by was relentless. I smiled anyway. Because I was running!

Now, before I got ahead of myself, I still had to remember that during one of those failed healing hypotheses, I felt good for about 3.5 miles before the injury popped up. Therefore, I was looking for excuses to slow myself down and not race the run part of the course. At mile 1.3, I stopped to go to the bathroom. At mile 4, I had a conversation with the girl handing out gels so that I could get a flavor that wouldn't make me hurl. At mile 6, I mixed a nice batch of ice and water so I could get something cold to drink. When the water was gone, I dumped the ice down my pants. There's nothing like a numb crotch to keep the pace at bay. And, the main point of this part of the story is just to brag that I was still running!

The course featured a lasso-shape. You ran down the handle and out to the loop. You did the loop twice, including the annoying out and backs designed to regulate the distance and ensure that we did the expected number of miles for at least one of the disciplines for the day,  and hit the handle again for the trip to home base. As I started my second loop, there were still swarms of people passing and passing. And there were even more swarms of people entering the course. The passing parade was going to continue. It didn't matter. I was still running!

Right around mile 9, my lack of run training started to rear its ugly head. Fatigue was settling in and building a house to ensure permanency. I was searching for some kind of encouragement. As I crested one of the hills, a small crowd of people started cheering for me by yelling, "Go Kristy, go!" I didn't have the heart to tell them that my name wasn't Kristy because it was the perk I needed. Shortly thereafter, a woman ran by who was clearly struggling too and I felt bad since no one was giving her any attention. I was still running!

At mile 10, the hurt locker was officially opened. It was at this point of the run where the aforementioned yet highly predictable pain made an appearance in my legs. It started with early warning signs in my lower quads. I ran on. By mile 11, I had stepped into the hurt locker completely. Both legs were starting to cramp. Every once in a while, the right one would attempt to seize. I entered negotiations with my legs. I agreed to walk for 30 seconds out of every 2 minutes and the legs agreed to not fall off at the hips. My previous pace was now slow shamed as I made the turn off the loop, onto the handle, and headed for home. This is the time when most runners would get a boost and the end simply feels near. Not this guy. The passing parade was in full force. I was still running(ish)!

To add insult to potential injury, the hill profile was conspiring with my legs to work against me. Remember that 'problem' I was discussing at the beginning of the post about the dangers of running downhill? Yeah, well, running up that hill wasn't much of a picnic. (Aside: Come to think of it, at my pace, I could have busted out a picnic without too much of a dent in speed or dent in the picnic. /End Aside.) To put this in perspective, my pace for mile 9 was 8:40. Mile 10 was 9:39. Mile 11 was 10:40. Mile 12 was 11:26. Mile 13 was 12:22. My average pace fell from 8:45 to 9:30. You could watch the misery unfold just through the numbers.

At the end of the day, my official run time was 2:05.00. This was the 108th fastest in my age group, 634th fastest versus the boys, and 825th fastest overall. All of that swimming, biking, and plodding left me with an official time of 5:05.15 for 370th place in the race, 47th in my age, and 319th in my gender. And, my legs hurt everywhere, except, ironically for my hamstrings. I'll call that a win!

For your effort in making it through the series, I'll reward you with the many race faces of the Banter. Thanks for reading.

And Then Something Happened... (Part 1)

Most of the greatest events in your life will sound like this, upon reminiscing. "So I was minding my own business when..." and excellence will ensue. A sister , albeit sinister version, to this would be, "Little did I know what I was in for..."

For example, I was minding my own business in a college theology class when the professor announced that we had to do a group project. My first pick in topics was full. So was my second. I just scribbled my name on a third and was partnered with a hot chick I now refer to as the Wife. What's funny is that when she tells the exact same story, with very similar details (she got her first pick), is she starts the story as, "Little did I know what I was in for..."

Well, in sport, there's a different catch phrase that foreshadows a tragic story is about to unfold. It's, "And then something happened..." and I've been living this nightmare for a few years in a row.

Two years ago, I was minding my own business and going for a run during a late January morning. I was in perfectly great shape and there was nothing special about this run. And then something happened. I stepped on an invisible object that caused a stress fracture in my left foot. I didn't really run again until April. Two plus months was more than enough to turn my running clock back to zero, and my clock wasn't all that speedy to start with.

Last year, I was minding my own business in mid-February and then something happened. Next thing I know, I was under doctor's orders to not lift or strain anything. Little did I know that I was in for no swimming, biking, or plodding for a few weeks. I recovered from that excursion faster than I did the previous year but it still put a major dent in my progress.

This year, I had successfully done 100 runs in 100 days. I had logged more 40 mile+ run weeks than ever before seen. I even hit 50 plus on an occasion. I was minding my own business on a treadmill run late one Friday night in April. And then something happened... I could feel the slight stretch in my left hamstring during a particularly fast 5k. The next day, I went for an easy 14 miler and put that tiny tweak behind me. Sunday's short run also felt normal. Monday was an off day.

So I was minding my own business on a Tuesday morning tempo run and then something happened. I was on mile 3 of doing some speed like work (nothing I do could ever be considered 'speedy') and the tweak turned into a full blown twerk. Nobody likes twerking. I ran back home at a pace that even I would have called slow. For reference, I was passed by several blowing leaves. Note: The wind was blowing in the other direction.

I decided to wait a couple of days before re-attempting my version of running. And then something happened... The twerk was still there. I cut myself off for another 10 days.

Here's the big fat lie of multi-sport: They say that if you're laid up in one of the disciplines that you can always fall back on the others to keep you entertained. They are complete idiots. What they don't take into consideration is the blow to your psyche. I've never had depression and I won't trivialize the hardships of people with the condition, but this was the closest I've been to what I think it would feel like. To put all of that effort and energy month in and month out to end up side-lined like this was excruciating. I didn't want to do anything expect curl up and wallow. I could feel the tendon stretch and be uncomfortable in the water and on the bike. My workouts in all disciplines struggled.

After my 10 day hiatus, I decided that I hated not running. On a fit of unintelligent desperation, I went for a run. This was a Monday. It was an easy 4 miler out and back with about 7 feet of elevation. After 3 miles, I was feeling pretty good and plotting out the rest of my week to get back to a 30 mile norm. And then something happened. At mile 3.5 I was walking in near tears as the twerk had reared it's ugly head. I resigned to another week off.

So my running has completely dropped off the Earth. My desire to bike was taking a hit by both the injury and the crappy weather pattern that's known as normal/ cold and wet for the armpit of America I call home. I happily have a few people that look forward to seeing me at the pool and will hold me semi-accountable for getting wet with them. It wasn't good but it's the best I had (and, truth be told, I'm not really all that worthy of their awesomeness, which in turn makes them all that much more awesome). On the bright side, I had been eating more. There's nothing like some weight gain to keep the unhappiness flowing.

The following Monday, I was getting desperate. I tried again. This time I didn't get the grace period of niceness that was allotted me during my last run. The hammy was tight the entire way. However, I remember thinking that I could keep this pace (slow) going at this pain level (mild) for quite some time. I once again started plotting my run mileage for the rest of the week. This plot line included an easy Tuesday morning run. I was 2 miles in to that 4 miler and then something happened. The twerk returned in it's full on ugliness (note: there is no such thing as a good looking twerk). I ran/ walked/ limped home.

As of this writing, that was a full 2 weeks ago. According to the googler, one of the paths towards healing is strengthening the glutes. Now, I'm into butt stuff! I'm rolling. I'm stretching. I'm doing bridges. I must say that things are looking mighty firm down there. Things in the hamstring area of my life have been looking up.

During this last bit of time, every once in a while, something would happen and I would re-tweak my twerk. I would pick something up and get sent a warning ping. I would do a sudden turn in just the right direction and feel a little extra stretch. These weren't painful, mind you, just enough discomfort to remind me that I'm not healed. Therefore, what I would not do is run on it.

And, at this stage of my existence, I am struggling to admit that I am afraid to run. No, not because I know I'll be slower than all of the work I've done this year should dictate. I don't mind being slow. You can't be me and be grumpy with slow. The running brings the pain and I'm just not in to twerking.

As it stands, I've got a half Ironman race on June 2nd. It's highly likely that will be my next run. I'm going to go for about a month without running and nearly 2 months without any real mileage so that I can survive a race. My big race goal is to not have any hamstring pain during the race. Any other kind of pain is acceptable, including mental anguish. This is not a good existence. Wish me luck.

I Am the Pace Man

It's a commonly known fact that the Beatles were runners. They've made several movies where the band was being chased by countless womens and maybe a couple of dudes. Luckily, they were never caught. In fact, 8 Days a Week was about their newly found love for running. The song A Hard Day's Night is a tribute to their marathon training.  The movie poster for A Hard Day's Night shows their ability to outpace their would-be captors even in street clothes and without their running shoes. And they have me to thank for that.

What people don't fully realize is how much these guys trained. I remember when I took them on their first training run in Liverpool. They were pathetic. I was hired by Brian Epstein to get these kids in shape. It was tough. John and Paul could at least run a full kilometer without stopping. George was smooth and light on his feet but had absolutely no endurance. There was something in the way he moved, though. Pete Best couldn't even make it a full 100 meters (this was England, so they used the metric system at that time). As the other members of the band progressed, Pete couldn't keep up leading to the decision to force him out of the band and replace him with an up-and-coming running Starr.

We needed a plan for the boys to get in shape and practice their music. They were concerned. I  made it clear that we could work it out but it would be a long and winding road. They had to get back to the basics. Within anytime at all, they learned that happiness was a warm run.

Their biggest issue was in the pacing, or lack thereof. They asked me why they were always in misery. They were really obsessed trying to get fast and would constantly check the data. I told them that they needed to let it be and just do most of their runs at an easy pace and be consistent. It was George who really challenged the idea and asked me to prove that I can pace well. I told him to look at my data. Here's the run from yesterday.

Here I had 4 miles with an average pace of 8:44 and each of the splits +/- 4 seconds of that time. George remained unconvinced, since it was such a short run (we was really starting to dig this distance thing) and wanted more. So I floated a 6 miler that averaged 8:38s. And if it weren't for the ice on my drive, that first mile would have fallen in line more nicely with the others. Such is a day in the life during the winter.

Paul and John, ever so competitive, wanted to see this for themselves.  (Aside: Ringo couldn't care less. He had a ticket to ride and was just happy they let him play every once in a while. In reality, he didn't care. /End Aside.) They made it so we would all come together as a group for a long run. I took them on a 12+ miler and chatted things out for a while. I have a feeling that they really just wanted to listen to me ramble about nonsensical gibberish, as I'm known to do. Mostly I do it for the others since I feel fine and they're the ones who needed to work.  I'd float how they need to run like pigs from a gun. Or sit on a corn flake. I'd send insults to them when they started slowing down. "Come on you crabalocker fishwife." "Let's go Semolina Pilchard." "Don't let your knickers down." Stuff like that. They nailed that run. That was 12 miles with less than a 7 second spread.

When they asked how I do it, I responded that it's simple. I am the Pace Man. Now, they are the Pace Men. I am the Banter.

Here's one more for good measure. 13+ miles averaging 8:38 with an 8.7 second spread.

Goo goo g'joob.

Embracing My Inner Rodent

Mammals, as a class of animals, are rumored to first have made an appearance on this rock called Earth roughly 200 million years ago. It was a complicated period in time. Pangea was still a thing. Dinosaurs were walking around uninhibited. Trees hadn't been invented yet. The Banter was trying to figure out how to be a runner. It was utter confusion.

These mammals were egg-laying, pouch bearing creatures. If it weren't for them, cycling would have never invented the rear-jersey pockets. So sport has the Triassic Period to thank for that invention. How do they know this? Well, they found a tooth somewhere in China and they just sorta pieced the rest together. As it turns out, we were very rat-like.

The problem is that the real mammals, the ones that didn't behave like platypi crossed with genetically challenged kangaroos, didn't make an appearance until the Jurassic Period. Contrary to what Hollywood and Michael Crighton novels would have you believe, T. rex wouldn't be around for many more millions of years. T. rex's cousin, Allosaurus was the terrible lizard du jour. The longest animal ever recorded, Diplidocus, was meandering the plains. Stegosaurus was plundering around. Pangea broke itself into 2 halves. The Banter was still trying to figure out how to be a runner. Mammals continued to be rat-like creatures romping around in the underbrush. How do they know? Yet more teeth.

As the northern and southern halves of Pangea drifted apart, starting the Atlantic Ocean. As a result, land animals had to learn how to swim. They didn't like it so much, which is why the swim portion of a triathlon is so ridiculously short, compared to it's other multisport brethren. This is what's commonly known as the Cretaceous Period, which is Latin for "we hate the water but don't want to do a duathlon". T. rex finally made an appearance. Bees learned how to make honey. The Banter was still trying to figure out how to be a runner. An asteroid hit the Earth which spurred  a sudden onset of global warning, which the politicians require us to call 'climate change'. Most of the scary animals died out. Much like today, mammals didn't really notice. Triathletes applauded the extension of their season.

Flash forward by about 65 million years to the present day Quaternary Period. The dinosaurs have been reduced to chicken-like bird thingies. The Atlantic Ocean had expanded enough that even the most dedicated of open water swimmers paused before making the attempt. Triathletes immediately looked at the set and said, "No thank you." Mammals, without their terrible lizard competition, were thriving. Triathletes were still conflicted between the concept of climate change and a potentially extended race season. The Banter was still trying to figure out how to be a runner.

In an effort to understand  one of the most perplexing questions ever to elude the most brilliant of minds- what might make a runner out of the Banter- scientists had this brilliant idea to start studying the rodent (Aside: This had absolutely nothing to do with the Banter's physical appearance. At least, that's their story... /End Aside). Lab rats aren't really that popular and, historically, have had little scientific value. But, since the mammals got their start from rodent-like creatures, scientists decided to take a risk and study the most ancient mammalian form.

To do so, they traveled to the depths of the rain forest, where triathletes hate to venture because the heat and humidity ruin their ability to train hard. To test this idea, they placed a running wheel where no rat had ever even seen a running wheel. The hypothesis was that this stupid, foreign object would be completely ignored since rats can run wherever they want, whenever they wanted. Why would they want to use a device that let them go absolutely nowhere when they could go anywhere they wanted? Granted, they had to place a plate of food near the machine to attract the triathletes, err, rodents. The scientists were dumbfounded when several different rodents of several different species ignored the food, went to the running wheel, and spent an insane amount of time on the device.

Using the momentum of this experiment, scientists extended the lessons learned to a different, semi-talented triathlete currently living in northeastern North America. They went and got a large running wheel and placed it near the larger-rodent-type mammal of modern day known as the Banter. For years, nothing happened and the Banter remained a slow, sloth-like runner on the triathlon course. They revisited early experiments in vivo and tried again, only this time with food. Still nothing. The Banter remained resistant to intelligent training techniques.

The scientists were ever persistent. They re-worked their running wheel design. Instead of metal rungs, they went with a flat belt. The goal was to move the rodent from the inside of the running wheel to the outside of the running wheel. Hence, the invention of the treadmill. The Banter remained resistant.

Nearing the end of their funding period, the scientists were desperate to gain any kind of success in getting the Banter to resemble anything close to a runner. He'd been immune to all efforts for several millennia now, complete with race results to prove it. Such results do not prove well in recruiting sponsors. They tried putting down food, a la the rain forest experiment. Surprisingly, even that didn't encourage running. In fact, that particular action backfired as the Banter would just show up, eat the food, and leave without working out.

In a last ditch effort, scientists took a picture of the Banter as he readied himself for a race. They waited until he had predictably terrible results at that race. Then they sent him the picture. The hypothesis was that showing the Banter how he's leading with his belly instead of his brain might make encourage him to make the change. To their relief, it worked!! The Banter not only started to run more, which is the single most important criterion if you want to run faster, but he also didn't shy away from the flat, belt-like running wheel. If you're interested, you can see the exact picture that sparked the change, as presented in a previous post, found here. I do not suggest you click that link nor look at that picture.

Even though the experiment is still in it's beta stage, early findings are looking positive. The Banter has been running more, as evidenced in number of runs per week, number of minutes per week, and average number of complaints spewed. In the past 10 days, the Banter has logged 12 runs with 11 of them on the rodent wheel. There's a high probability that the Banter will develop a case of the Sudden Hatred of Indoor Training before the experiment's funds run out. But, as reported by his training log, his desire to be fast and fit might finally trump his hatred of the treadmill. And, based on all of the running without actually going anywhere, the scientists concluded that he's still mostly rodent. But you probably beat them to that conclusion.

8 Days Without Training Makes 1 Weak

Warning, the blog post you are about to read has been rated PG-13 by the Blogging Association of America (BAA). It has been deemed that some information may be considered inappropriate and possibly awkward for young readers, sensitive readers, or readers that have at least 8 functioning brain cells. The subject matter has been deemed as highly sensitive in nature, not very exciting and on par with Vogon Poetry. The reader is advised to proceed with the utmost caution.

Let it be known that this will be the only opportunity I am granting on this particular topic in person or in print. I'm not one who normally hands out personal or private information but for some reason I'm feeling the need to tell this story in this medium at this time. Should you see me in public and ask, I'll likely make a distracting joke and not really dive into the topic nor answer the question. Sorry.

Here's the thing, after all the recent attention I've given on being consistent and then on feeling S.H.I.T.ty, if one were to look closely at my training log, I dropped off the face of the exercising Earth. Here's what I mean. If you look at the first 3-weeks of February, things look pretty darn good.

The biking fell off a little bit at the end, but that was in the middle of a biking-based recovery week and some other life stuff happened (more on this in a moment). That was also linked to my drop in indoor exercise motivation.

Here is the last 2 weeks, including today's exercise, in all of it's lack of glory.

What you see here is the excellent bike ride I did with the Boy and the Outlaw on the 20th. And you see a couple of runs. And then there's this great big gap in training. That's the first time I went that long without training in more than 2 years, which includes a stretch of time when I had a fractured bone in my foot. I went back in my training log and discovered that the last time I took 8 full days off of training was in 2016 after my final race of the season. I took a 10-day off-season and promptly got busy doing the next rounds of doings. 

This week wasn't considered a planned off season. I had some work done, umm, down there. Now, let me promise you that I'm not going to dive into too many details or specifics about what they actually did to my crotchal region. All the major parts are intact and I won't be receiving a sympathy call from Lance Armstrong any time soon. After the follow-up visit (tbd), it's highly likely that this will be the last time I pay a man to put his hands on my groin. The reason I won't be broaching the subject again is that I've found that most people really aren't that interested in anything my crotch has to offer. Every time that I've brought up my crotch in conversation or tried to provide a visual, the patrons cringed. Here's a re-enactment. 

The procedure took place on the first Friday of down week. It was quick and I'd like to tell you painless, but I'm not one to lie. Perhaps I'll embellish a bit for comedic reasons but that's not the same thing. I did not cry. I did almost bite my lip off and was congratulated on the record amounts of perspiration left on the examination table. So I got that going for me.

I asked the Doc about the recovery. He says that I'm to be on light duty for at least a week. Then after 7 days, give 'er a try. He speculated that biking might be the most challenging of the disciplines due to pressure points. I suspected that running would be worse due to the impact forces and jarring on the body. He said that I might have a point and to make sure I run slowly. We both had a good laugh at that one, as if not running slowly were an option. I asked him about swimming. He paused and we both had our second good laugh in as many minutes knowing that I have no intention on getting in the water.

The recovery period was tough. Not because of the procedure but because of the gluttony and sloth. Whereas the average American bloke relishes in the concept of being forced to not exercise, it's not something at which I excel. I could feel my muscles atrophy, which is significant since I don't have much to start with. On the bright side, my hunger was boosted meaning that I managed to pack on all of the pounds I took off in the previous 7 weeks. Score one for the Banter! Oh, wait. Never mind.

Day 8 arrives. It was a chilly but pleasant morning. The type of day that I wouldn't have hesitated to run outside.  I decided to head out to the treadmill. I had no idea how my body was going to react to the first day back and I didn't want to be miles away should it take a turn for the worse. I hopped on the dreadmill and pushed the 'slow' button (easily recognizable due to it's overuse while the faster ones are seemingly untouched). It was clear that after the first mile, my legs were happy to be back. My crotch was still a bit sensitive. My lungs were on fire. O.M.G! It was as if someone reached inside my chest and squeezed all of the life juices directly out of my alveoli. This would be considered pretty good had I been attempting to make wine. But for a slow run?

I eventually got to 45 minutes and all of my cells, crotch-related and the other ones, were for once in agreement that I'd had enough. I came in and got cleaned up. I was afraid to wash my nether regions in fear of the pain. I shuddered to think about what I'd become.

Now, a smart man would have called it a day. The Banter? (I think the question answers itself.) I decided to put on some lycra and head back out to the workout room for a bike ride. I just had to know if I was more correct than the doctor about which discipline would be worse for wear. Since the run was slow, I decided to attempt to be fair to the competition and make the bike slow too. Normally I finish a weekend workout in 90 minutes with a normalized power around 230 watts (out of about 270). This day I went for 60 minutes with an NP of 183 watts. On a normal crotch day, this would be considered a recovery ride. And, since I'm recovering...

You'll be pleased to know that I was indeed, from my anecdotal n=1 pseudoscientific experiment, more correct than the doc. The areas of concern were not in contact with the bike saddle. The legs felt pretty good. The lungs weren't leaking any ethanol. I have to go back for a follow up visit in late April. I can't wait to tell him. (Ya know, because I'm trying to boost his knowledge base.)

Based on my running experiment, I decided to take one more day off. I have expectations to re-start normal training on Monday. It'll be more of the same. Run slowly, not necessarily by choice. Bike in the garage, begrudgingly by choice. Play with my crotch. Repeat. I'm happy to put this experience behind and am pleased that I can again get jiggy with it it happened early in the season. I'm so motivated that I may even get back in the water. (<--You're supposed to laugh at that.)

Product Review- RipLaces

For the longest time, I’ve been a forum member on Slowtwitch.com. If you’re interested in losing a few brain cells, I post there under the screen name “Tri-Banter”. Weird name selection, right?

ST is a complicated place. You can ask pretty much anything that you want and it will get answered completely with great information. It will also get answered completely with bad information. You can have a conversation with some world-class professionals and leading scientists in the sport. Or, you could have a conversation with the exact opposite- I.E. me.

In one of the easier threads, some bloke asked about elastic lace options. I’ve been in sport for a long time and I’m a lazy man. I hate tying my shoes. Elastic laces eliminate the need to loop-swoop- and pull (Aside- this extends to non-sporting life as I tend to put elastic laces on my everyday shoes as well. I really can’t stand tying shoes and understand why old people tend to use velcro sneakers. /End Aside). In a race, elastic laces make for a quicker transition time, allowing me to get onto the run course faster so people can start passing me sooner.

Over the years, I’ve experimented with a lot of shoe-tying alternatives. Initially, I just used the laces that came with the shoes, only I left them tied. That was only marginally successful, lending itself to improvement products. Then I tried actual elastic laces, which were just stretchy versions of regular laces. Then I used a product called Yankz. There were a couple more who were so unremarkable that I can't remember their identities. I’m in a much different place now.

I responded to the OP with the truth, I sport Xtenex laces, seen in the picture. Then I promptly forgot about the thread and went on to other kinds of gibberish.

Shortly thereafter, I got an email from some guy named David. Whereas I’ve known a couple of David's in the past, I don’t have anyone in my contacts folder with that name. It turns out that David invented a new kind of elastic lace called “RipLaces”. In an effort to convert me to his side of the force, he offered to send me a set of RipLaces for free. I couldn't find a reason to say no. I’m going to do a product review of RipLaces below. Regardless of the outcome of said review, I’m of the opinion that David is a stand-up guy.

Initial Encounter of RipLaces.com

David sent me a coupon code that allowed me to order a lace set-up of my choosing and he’d pay for the cost and shipping of the product. Remember- David is awesome. If I ever meet him, I’ll buy him a beer or dinner or something.  (Seriously David- if you’re ever in Rochester, look me up.)

The website has several different products. It’s probably that I’m not that smart (and that probability is near 100%), but I struggled with sifting through the differences of the product line. There are “Best Sellers”, which are $14.98. There are 2 different kinds of “Bungees”, one is in a family pack and the other are in a small pack. There are 3 different kinds of “Cores”.  It took me a while to figure out what I needed to have a fully usable elastic lace option.  In fact, it took me so long that I almost emailed David back to ask for help. I initially couldn’t figure out what the difference was between the bungees or the cords. I probably spent about 30 minutes on his product site. (I suspect that a nominally intelligent person could have accomplished the same level of learning in under 5 minutes, which is still longer than it should take, IMO.)

RipLaces come in 2 parts and you need both if you’d like your shoe to work. You need bungees and you need cores. These are offered in various colors and sizes. I eventually selected Black Bungees and the Skinny Core. I ordered them separately even though that’s the exact same combination of that comes in the “Best Sellers” option. Luckily for David, it doesn’t matter if you order as a combo pack or individual products, they are the same price.

The Product Has Arrived

A few short days after ordering, the laces arrived. Shipping was efficient. Here’s what came in the package.

The cores are small, black plastic thingies with hook-like protrusions. The package had 14 cores. I went and found my running shoes. I counted the number of eyelets. Sure enough, there were 7 per shoe meaning that David is a clairvoyant genius. How he knew the exact number of cores that would match my shoes before he even contacted me is beyond my comprehension.

To be honest, I was even more shocked by the bungees. Bungees are basically elastic ties that girls use to put their hair in pony tails. There were a lot of bungees. Too many to count (meaning more than 20). Whereas David was an excellent predictor of how many laces I needed, he has no idea how big my feet are. In an effort to make sure he covered all options, he sent an overkill of bungees (and I now understand why he has an a la carte version of bungee purchasing).

I disassembled the Xtenex laces and started to add the RipLaces. If you can’t figure out the process from the pictures posted on the back of the cores, the website has a fun instructional video. Even a dolt like me was able to understand the installation process. Select a bungee size. Snap the bungee through one of the sickle ends of the core. Use the ‘tool’ to pull the bungee through the lace eyelets. (Optional step- laugh hysterically at their use of the word “tool,” since it’s just a piece of wire). Snap the other end of the bungee to the other end of the core. Repeat for each eyelet.

Here’s the finished, installed product. Aesthetically, the set-up is much cleaner looking than the Xtenex set-up.

The Run

I’m currently recovering from an injury. The injury is on the left foot, just below the 3^rd and 4^th toes. Due to the injury, that area is pressure sensitive and will sometime swell a bit during and after a run. With my old Xtenex laces, if I experienced any such swelling, I could adjust on the fly. With RipLaces, there is no such adjustment. I suppose I could simply remove the lace where there is pressure build-up but that would defeat the purpose of having laces. Therefore, I resorted to running on the treadmill. Should a problem arise, I was close to a solution (as opposed to miles away from home like I was when the injury first happened).

No such problem occurred. In fact, the RipLaces were better on my sensitive area than the Xtenex. The forefront of my foots couldn’t have been any happier.

That doesn’t mean everything was perfect in RipLace land. I think I did a bad job at sizing the top 2 eyelet bungees. There is normally 4 strands of thread-like materials criss-crossed between the topmost eyelets. With the RipLace design, that number had doubled. Granted, I had no heel slippage but there was an awful lot of pressure pressing against the moving parts of my ankle. I've since removed one of the laces. Better. Take that David and your 14 cores. I've now got spares.

The Verdict
After a week's worth of running in these things, all on the treadmill, there are a few facts that are more and more obvious as time goes on. First, I'm glad that I have a treadmill so that I can skip the 7000 inches of rain dumped on our house. If April showers bring Mayflowers, the pilgrims can dock their ship directly in my front yard.

Second, my laundry needs have increased. I naturally smell horribly, I'm not ready to learn what sort of stench would be created if I re-wore my running clothes.

Third, I have an abundance of bungees left over and I'm hunting for uses for these things. I can't imagine the size of the shoe or how much my foot would swell to need the extra large bungee. If any of my colleagues gets batted in the back of the head with a hair tie, you'll know that I've run out of other ideas.

Fourth, these things might be permanently attached to my shoe (except, of course, for the bungee that busted on my 5th run). This might be attributed to the fact that I'm lazy. It might also be attributed to the fact that these are a really excellent product. I can't see a reason to go back to my old laces.

(P.S. David- that beer option won't expire.)

Yelling at Books

Warning: The introduction to this post contains spoilers on the literary pieces known as The Time Traveler’s Wife and The Game of Thrones. If you’re the kind of person who hates spoilers and are highly interested in reading either of these books above, I suggest that you skip the first section and head to the second. Having said that, Snape killed Dumbledore and it was a good thing. Also, Darth Vader is Luke Skywalker’s father and Leia is Luke’s twin sister while Vader never acknowledged that he had a daughter.

When Literature Physically Makes Me Angry

The Time Traveler’s Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger, is more about the Time Traveler and less about the wife. For some reason, this dude has a condition that sends him to various places and times at random. And, probably because the book was written by a woman (semi-intentionally sexist but I really couldn't come up with another reason), he couldn’t travel with his clothes. Along the way, he grooms a girl into loving him because he seemed to warp into and out of her life. Basically, she knew him at all stages of her life. She becomes the wife. Honestly, I am indifferent to this line of prose. So why am I bringing this up?

The time traveling dude was a runner. See, showing up at random places at random times, naked, meant that he needed to run away from a lot of people. (Because if a naked dude magically popped into my front yard, the first thing I'd do is chase him.) It’s possible that he became a nude runner after reading Born to Run and misunderstood that they didn't wear anything only on their feet. What ground my gears about the book was that the author dumped him into winter on one of his jaunts. Then gave him frostbite. Then cut off his feet. Which left him a bedridden and wheelchair bound invalid. Which is what got him killed on a subsequent bounce. How's that for romance?! When I read that foot-cutting scene, I was screaming at the book. Stephen King hasn’t written a bigger nightmare than that. That includes the hobbling scene in Misery, because that guy didn’t turn into a helpless idiot.

Apparently, they made TTTW into a movie, which I haven’t seen. There’s absolutely nothing in the book that I’d want to watch on screen (except, maybe, Rachel McAdams). 

Contrast this with another novel that I’ve read and yelled at the book itself. George RR Martin is famous for a few things. For one, he likes his sex scenes. For two, he likes killing off main characters to whom you got attached. For three, he seems to be interested in torture. In the Game of Thrones, there was a badass knight named Jaime who had a penchant for sleeping with his twin sister (no, not Luke and Leia). Instead of killing him off, George did something worse. He cut off the knight’s sword hand. Once again, I found myself screaming at a book, “You just don’t do that!” George did provide some redemption, since he left the other hand intact leaving the knight with an opportunity to return to badassness instead of a driveling nothing. George gets it.

How does this apply to anything?

In case you haven’t read any of the backstory of my recent blogging life, I’ve been giving my crotch a lot of attention. But, before that, I was an injured runner. Mind you, I’m not that good of a runner. Never have been. Unlikely that I ever will be. That doesn’t mean I hate it. In fact, quite the opposite, I absolutely love running.

So, when an injury takes running away from me, I physically yell. Only this time, it’s at my feet instead of a book. I was grumpy with my athletic state of being for quite some time. I feared becoming the naked guy who turned into a useless idiot because running was taken away. The fear was centered about the not running, since I’m already an idiot and may or may not be wearing clothes right now.

I would rather have the mentality of the one-handed night. No, I do not wish to do anything with my sister (I can’t believe you went there- ewwwwwwwww!). I’d like to believe that even under the worst of circumstances, I’d find a way to get back on my feet, literally and figuratively. It’ll take a nightmare of female-romance-author proportions to stop me from running forever.

So, after 7 long weeks of not running, I braved the treadmill and did a test run. This is a double whammy. The treadmill isn’t that exciting, quite the opposite. Running could have been potentially painful. The result- It wasn’t that bad!

I’m not going to attempt to call it ‘good’. I mean, I was running slowly on the treadmill and excited about it. Obviously there’s something wrong with me. It’s clear that I’m not 100% fully healed (in the foot or in the head). It’s also clear that the running isn’t making the injury any worse (jury's still out on the brain). I've run several times since then. I’m doing my due diligence in taking it easy on the mill. My times are, for me, insultingly slow. My ‘long’ runs are shorter than my short runs pre-hurting. But, I’m slogging my way back onto the road.

And when I get there, look out multisport world. No, seriously, look out. Otherwise, you’ll likely plow me over as you run by on the last leg of the triathlon course. Which might re-injure me and make me that groveling idiot in a wheelchair who can’t run again. Don't subject me to that fate. Please.