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.

IMCT 70.3(ish)- The Bike

This is part 2 of 3 in a 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.
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Transition 1
When last we left our hero, he (meaning me) had just come out of the water in pretty decent shape. And I use the word "shape" liberally here. I've been in kind of a funk lately due to a hamstring injury. When people asked me what my race goals were, I answered honestly, "To race without hamstring pain." That's how bad it's gotten for me. The typical follow-up question was, "What are you going to do if it hurts?" Honestly, I had absolutely no idea. This day was going to be an adventure.

The run from the lakeshore to transition was to be my first major test. All I had to do was exit the water and run up this little path to my bicycle. I'd be lying to you if I told you I wasn't a little nervous about this feat. I was faced with unknown choices that were roiling around in that chunk of mostly blank proteus material known as my gray matter. One potential outcome was that the hammy would hurt so bad that I would dnf in transition 1. Another was that I would feel some sort of twinge and continue racing, while evaluating the sensation on the bike. The final, best case scenario, was that I would feel absolutely normal (as if there's anything that could be considered 'normal' in my world) and forget that I even had an issue in the first place.

I know, the suspense is killing you. Well, since I've been openly clear that this post is part 2 of 3, I clearly did not dnf in T1. As to the real result of the test, I don't have a great answer. I did feel some tightness in my hamstrings. However, this was a different type of semi-discomfort than I remember from a month ago. It could have been the injury poking it's head through the effort or it could have been caused by the fact that I have the flexibility of a recently timbered piece of lumber. Since option 1, dnf'ing in transition, was officially off the table, I headed for my bike.

The Bike
True story, I don't have a lot of friends, (Note 1: By choice. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. /End Note.) I prefer quality over quantity. So, if there's any chance that I've donned the title of 'friend' upon you, there's a decent chance that you are a quality individual. Enter Pants (<-- which is an hysterical statement on multiple levels). Pants is the most recent addition to my inner circle of people that I've befriended. Honestly, this is an awkward introduction for Pants (linky to her bloggy thingy). For 1, she's one of the few females that have made their way in. This is partially because I'm horribly intimidated by womens. And this is partially because most womens can't stand me. Pants, for some reason, chipped her way through my inferiority complex and tolerates the weirdness emitted by my presence. I don't get it either. (Note 2: At some point, I might have to explain why she's called "Pants". That point is not now./ End Note 2.)

Click to see the Bottle of Unusual Size

The only reason I'm even discussing Pants at this point in the story is that she got me a gift right before the race. She bought me a water bottle with the caption of "Have fun storming the castle". Whereas this might not seem blog-worthy, I can assure you that it's quite significant. First, rarely do any of my friends feel the need to spend their hard-earned cash on the likes of me. Second, Pants has taken the opportunity to learn about my true loves in life. I'm a huge Princess Bride fan. In fact, I can't think I've ever met anyone who is a bigger PB nerd than myself. This homage to the PB was an excellent addition to ease my pre-race concerns. Bonus- it's a 26 ounce bottle, meaning that I my pre-mixed liquid nutrition bottle was less concentrated and more palatable. Pants has scored additional, unexpected points with this gift!

The bike ride at IMCT Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy is currently the most challenging on the WTC's half iron circuit. Take a gander at the elevation comparison which I found somewhere on a social media feed. My Garmin listed the elevation gain at 3891 feet, to make the ride a little more challenging than advertised. To add to the difficulty, the course wasn't slated to be the full 56 miles. I clocked in at 53.66 miles, which is pretty close to what the race organizers mapped out. This is also the reason why the race gets an (ish) disclaimer, since it wasn't even projected as a full 70.3, even if you disclude the shortened swim.

I left transition with a pretty good knowledge of the course, at least with as much knowledge as one of my limited intelligence can boast. The Outlaw and I drove the course yesterday and highlighted several of the more interesting points on the course. That excursion took about 90 minutes in the van. All I can remember is that mile 22 was the harshest and there was 1 point on the route which could be considered 'technical' due to the downhilliness and S-curved shape of the road. My hope for the ride was that I could exceed 20 mph while keeping my power levels at a manageable limit, which is around 215 watts.

As I undulated around the outback of Connecticut, I was reminded as to how spoiled I am for living in western New York, which might be the only time I'll ever admit this. I will often publicly complain about the dismal state of my residence. I will, from here on out, never complain about the condition of the roadways in my vicinity. One of the reasons that the ride was not a full 56 miles was due to road construction on the course. I'm guessing that the entire state of Connecticut repairs about 3 total miles of road surface a year with a smidgeon of this year's allocation going to a part of the race course. That's a win for future generations of Quassians, since the rest of the course was an endless vibrational existence.

I deluded myself into thinking that the mile 22 hill would be met with a rather benign ride back to the park. I didn't anticipate that the never ending thud-thud-thud of the roadway know as middle Connecticut would mess up my aerobars. At mile 25, my right arm plummeted a few inches lower than normal. I thought for a moment that there was something majorly wrong with my bike. I successfully pulled my right pad up to it's normal position. It stayed there until the next major bump, which was roughly 7 seconds later. Boom, back down to the uncomfortable position. I was able to pull it back up.

This process of bump, uncomfortable aerobar position, pull back up repeated itself for the duration of the ride. That included the technical S-curved section of the road. Now, I have minimal skills in most things sport. Descending is on my relative short list of strengths. It's weird to me that not everyone has the ability to relax and go downhill efficiently. It's free speed without doing any work. Just sit back and let gravity transfer out the potential energy that you've worked so diligently to store up and release the kinetics. As I traversed this section, passing several people on the way down, I slammed on my brakes around the 2nd half of the S-hook. There was a guy lying face down near the end of a guard rail. His bike was nowhere to be seen. Several athletes/ saints had abandoned their race to provide aid to this guy. I was ready to toss in my race to ensure that this bloke survived the day. One athlete took charge of the situation and waved athletes through the crash. He didn't want to cause a greater commotion for the next wave of athletes attempting to navigate this section of road. (Note 3: It's fun to be on the receiving end of excellent people who have the best interest of others in mind. The world needs more people like this guy! /End Note 3.) I made a pledge to find the next place where there were police, race officials, or anyone associated with the outside world to send emergency assistance to this guy. About 3 minutes later, there was a batch of sirens as police and first responders raced their way to the accident.

Aside: Further research has learned me that the guy skidded out underneath the turn's guardrail. His bike was in pretty bad shape. He suffered a broken clavicle and was in the hospital recovering from the incident. /End Aside.

The rest of the ride featured me battling the clock and that pesky aerobar problem. A successful ride of that distance, to me, means that I enter transition at 20 mph or faster. According to the Garmin, my bike time was 2:42.23 a speed of 19.8 mph. Not bad but just under my window of success. According to the official race results, I biked 2:42.29. So 6 seconds slower. However, they posted my speed at 20.2 mph. I'll go with the official!

Aside 2: Normally, I'm one of the more graceful entrants into T2. I've got it down to a science. I loosen my velcro bike straps and pull my feet out of the shoes. Then, as the dismount line approaches, I side-straddle the bike with both legs on the same side. As I cross the line, I step down and hit the ground running. Well, there was a dude just in front of me as we approached the line. He took to the middle of the lane. Totally acceptable and I took the right side. Just as he crossed the line, he biffed something resulting in a lost shoe. This lost shoe resulted in him veering sharply right, directly into my path. The pavement wasn't as dry as it could have been due to the high humidities and fog levels. When you combine the speed of my approach, lost shoe, dude in my path, and wet pavement, my ability to take evasive action was reduced to skidding on my backside with the bike on top of me. And I lost a shoe of my own. I was able to recover myself, shoe, and bike before the other bloke was able to gain his shoe. Sub-Aside: He actually expected me to give it to him. I was a bit tiffed at the encounter, was not exhibiting very sportsmanlike behavior, and ignored his request. I entered transition ahead of him. /End Sub-Aside. On the bright side of this mini-crash, I had completely forgotten about my hamstring problem as I ran my bike into transition. This amnesia wouldn't last long. /End Aside 2.

The bike effort gave me the 18th best bike split of my age group, out of 324 athletes. This was 144th fastest time amongst men (no idea how many dudes were in the race) and 150th fastest overall (roughly 2000 people). I am pleased.

The most challenging part of the day remained- The Run. Tune in shortly to hear that debacle. Same Banter time. Same Banter channel.

IMCT 70.3(ish)- The Swim

Okay, just in case you are unfamiliar with the blog or have minimal skills of deduction, this is a triathlon focused site. Once upon a time, I did an awful lot of race reviews. It's time I dust off that old ambition and get to writing things I know about... Which are really recaps of things I've already completed. For those of you who have access to my data feed, don't worry, there's some stories to tell. So, without further adieu (because really, who actually wants more adieu anyway?), I bring you my race report from Ironman Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy. Be forewarned, these can get a little wordy, so buckle in.

Pre-Race
Early this year, I found myself in the hunt for an early season half iron race. In years past, I would hit a semi-local race called the Pain in the Alleganies. It was the most difficult and most fun half I've ever done. Sadly, only about 7 other people agreed with me and the race was canceled. Luckily, there was IM Syracuse 70.3. I did that a few times. Then they canceled that race. (Note: I am suspicious that I might be the half-iron kiss of death./ End Note) I hit the interwebs looking for a June race that would pique my interest.

There were basically 2 that I could find in my time frame. They were Ironman Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy (hillier and harder) and IM 70.3 Eagleman, formerly and currently known as Eagleman (fast and flat). I reached out to the Outlaw (link to his bloggy thingy), friend, athlete, triathlete, client, and all-around excellent guy. He was looking to do a race right around that time, too. He made the mistake of letting me choose. I had to resort to the data to help in the decision. See, I have this unwritten race time to travel ratio rule. The rule is simple, I don't want to travel more hours for a race than the number of hours I'll be racing. So, that means about 1.5 hour travel for a sprint distance (Note 2: I round up to the nearest half hour for those of you getting ready to balk at my times. /End Note 2). I'll go up to 2.5 hours for an oly, 5.5 hours for a HIM, and roughly 79 hours for a full iron. Ironman Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy is 5.5 hours away (right on the edge of the rule) while IM Maryland, formerly and currently known as Eagleman is 7+ hours. Ironman Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy wins. (Note 3: The Outlaw really wanted to do the other race but was too pansy to speak up about it. /End Note 3)

IMCT Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy, is located in the middle of a nowhere state. Seriously, other than a minor college or two, I can't think of any reason why someone would visit the state. The race listed as being located in a town called Middlebury. I can't think of a more appropriate name for a town in this setting.

Check-in to the race was on the Saturday before race day. Due to the copious numbers of people registered for the race, they divided the check-in based on race numbers. Smaller numbers got to register early. Bigger numbers got to register late. The Outlaw is an All World Athlete (AWA), meaning that he got a small number. The Banter is an All World Nobody, meaning that he got a large number. (Note 4: Ironically, they assigned me #1974, which is my birth year, so I ain't complaining about an awesome coincidence!/ End Note 4) In theory, we were supposed to check-in several hours apart. I had intention of schmoozing a volunteer or 2 to let me check-in early. As it turns out, I didn't need my schmoozing skills (which are outstanding, by the way). The volunteers couldn't have cared less as to your race number, AWA, or AWN status. I checked in with the cool people.

They left us instructions as to how to rack your bike. I think I nailed it!

While there, we took a walk around the park to check out the venue. We saw a sign that summed up the triathlete's creed towards training.

I only wish I were joking. I met no fewer than 3 blokes on race morning who informed me that this would be their first swim of the year. Not first open water swim, but first actual swim. The swim course looked rather pleasant. It's a 1-loop triangle shaped path with the buoys on your right.

The Swim
One of the major concerns about this race is the lack of parking anywhere near the venue. Yes, it's in an amusement park called Quassy. I had these delusions of grandeur. And then I saw the park. It's slightly larger than your local summer carnival, if carnival grounds came with a couple of water slides. With a 6:30 am race start, we had to drive to a distant lot and get on the school bus/ shuttle to get us to the park. The Outlaw, traditionally, is one of the first people to arrive to any given race. The Banter, traditionally, arrives as they are kicking people out of transition. We split the distance and arrived on site about 5:45 am. That gave us about 15 minutes to set stuff up, or about 10 more minutes than I need, or about 90 minutes less than the Outlaw needs.

A quick glance around showed that the day wasn't as bright as it could be. There was a distinct haze in the form of a nice fog obscuring the view of an otherwise picturesque scene. At about 6:15, I was standing in line at the port-o-potty trying to perfectly time my last elimination of the day when it was clear that the race wasn't going to start on time. For 1, there were still athletes arriving from the shuttle bus system. For 2, there was no one yelling fervently as these athletes to 'hurry up' or 'you can't go in' or 'gtfo'. For 3, the excitement in the air was at an all-time lull, which is contrary from what you'd expect for a line that might be a few minutes longer than time left before the start.

After finishing my business, I moseyed on down to the lake front. I was circa 6:40. Buzz was that the race was now slated to start at 7:00. At 6:50, they made the announcement that the swim was to be shortened from a 1.2 mile swim to a 750 yard swim or about 0.4(ish) miles. A collective sigh went out amongst several athletes. Roughly 12 people, including the Outlaw and myself, started cursing our luck. We should have read that swim sign suggestion far earlier in the season. (Note 5: I was honestly supportive of the change. Due to the safety concerns of the swim and the collective triathlete's propensity to not be as prepared for that leg of the race, the lifeguards needed to be able to spot struggling athletes. Visibility was maybe 30 yards from the shore and got less as you made your way out into the lake. A shortened swim is far greater than a canceled swim. /end Note 5)

While awaiting our now re-postponed swim start, I met a guy named Frank. He would have been racing if it weren't for his recovering from a surgery (I think). Frank was taking pics of friend of his. I busted out the schmoozing skills I didn't use yesterdayand got him to snap a pic of me. Then I got him to text it to me. He is a much better photographer than I, and tossed in a bonus shot of the depth of the field, including the fog, for your viewing pleasure. I look forward to racing Frank in the near future, should life allow it.

Doing my best to not stare at the hotties on my left and right sides

Photo courtesy of Frank 

The swim was slated to be a rolling start. This was my first attempt at this style of racing. I had this vision that a rolling start would be similar to how they start runners at major marathons. You line up according to self-seeded abilities. The gun sounds and the athletes funnel into the water, already pre-sorted on shore. What I got was different. We were supposed to be called into the water in groups of 2-6 at a time separated by 3-8 seconds. This is more what a time trial start is like. Sadly, the first 50 athletes or so, including the Outlaw, ignored protocol and just went for it. There was a second, smaller group that waited their tiny amount of time. That's when the swim organizers stepped up their blockade game and got the athletes under control, which just so happened to be about 10 feet in front of me. They went to the 2-4 athletes every 3-8 seconds or so. I honestly couldn't figure out how they decided who and how long in between. They were using the force, or something similar. (Note 6: Word on the street is that they abandoned the rolling start protocol even before they made it halfway through the field, when it was clear that they wouldn't get everyone in the water in a timely manner. The race began and ended with a mass swim start, with a rolling start in between. /End Note 6)

As I entered the water, the swim and spotting was perfect. As I made the turn around the first buoy, it was clear that spotting the pathway was more challenging than the view on the shore would have led me to believe. This gives credence to the shortened swim decision. I found myself spotting the kayaks as much as the buoys. The way back into shore was especially difficult to navigate, since there were clearly athletes that had seeded themselves poorly, causing congesting and the need to go around several athletes. Plus, the fog had thickened.

The Garmin had the swim distance at 880 yards for a total time of 11:58. The official results said that my swim time was 11:58. Score 1 for the Banter and his ability to hit the lap button at the appropriate time. Minus 1 point for his inability to swim straight (although I doubt I did an extra 130 yards). Note the Finisher's Pic below and the level of fog.

I'm the guy with his cap already off

That 11:58 was good for 5th in my age group, 63rd amongst men, and 77th overall. Not to shabby.

Tune in later for more exciting action as the Banter takes to the middle of nowhere's version of a bike ride. There's lots more to tell.

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.