Triathlon Life Lessons
2004
Did you ever hear someone on his death bed say:
"I wish I'd spent more time at the office?".
"Secrets of Effective Leadership"
The Upside of Injury
Or Maybe That’s the Whisky Talking, by Jef Mallet, Inside Triathlon, June 2008
We have friends over for dinner. A very special toast is in order. I dig out my bottle of 18-year-old Macallan. I grasp the stopper and gently twist. And the toast gives way to a whole new proclamation as the cork disintegrates and drops crumbs into what use to be some very nice single-malt Scotch.
Fortunately, I’m a mediocre athlete, well trained in extracting meaningful perspective from surface-level disasters. So while my friends settle for the 10-year-old Talisker, I go work on something a little more mature.
Whisky Perspective 1: You can’t ruin a $175 bottle of whisky unless you own a $175 bottle of whiskey, so how bad can life be? Makes you think, doesn’t it? You bet it does. And I know what you’re thinking: what’s a triathlete doing drinking hard liquor like that? No wonder he’s mediocre.
What I’m doing is being injured, betrayed by my own body for no good reason. I’ve canceled my spring marathon, and now I’m wondering what the rest of my season is going to look like. So as long as I’m mining perspective from the floaters in my ruined booze, I might as well keep going.
Triathlon Corollary to Whiskey Perspective 1: You can’t jeopardize your triathlon season unless you’re a triathlete. So, again, how bad can life be? My sports medicine doctor’s working hypothesis is that I’ve got something called a sports hernia, but there’s a good chance we can correct the situation without surgery. Which means that, so far, life is bad only to the extent that I can’t run for a few weeks, but I can still bike and swim. That’s not only tolerable, I’ve got friends who consider not running a great improvement in lifestyle, and some of them are advancing none-too-polite arguments for not swimming as well.
Let’s say it does get worse, though. Let’s say I also can’t swim for some reason. I grab my bike and spend some quality time with my aforementioned cyclist friends. Or my wife and I grab the tandem and plan a nice trip. Or maybe this is the year I go to Colorado and embarrass my Midwestern self at the Bob Cook Hillclimb.
Let’s say I can’t bike but I can still swim. Then I can go embarrass myself (humiliation is a common theme in my life) at any number of open-water swim competitions. Let’s say I can’t do any of the three disciplines for a whole year. Then I’m now one bottle of hooch less likely to spiral into depravity.
And speaking that, Whiskey Perspective 2: You’d think the cork wouldn’t crumble with the good stuff, but sometimes it does. Triathlon Corollary to Whiskey Perspective 2: You live well, you take care of yourself, you do everything right, and you’re still just one dumb decision, one missed step or one congenital defect from the ice pack and ibuprofen. That doesn’t sound very encouraging, but I think it’s supremely motivational. Life is uncertain. All you can count on is that it’s uncompromisingly infinite. If there’s a better incentive to treat each good day as a gift, I haven’t seen it.
Whisky Perspective 3: Scotland will make more. Triathlon Corollary to Whisky Perspective 3: Life may be infinite, but life is long. Triathlon is a lifetime sport. And on top of that, it has this weird effect of extending that very lifetime. Life tends to get longer as you pack it fuller. (Like making sausages, it’s also more fun to watch.) There will be more seasons. A whole lot more.
Whisky Perspective 4: Bloody hell! Just strain out most of the cork crap and jury-rig a new stopper for the bottle. Triathlon Corollary to Whisky Perspective 4: Yeah, it won’t be as good. Whiskey Perspective 5: That wasn’t a corollary. That was a gratuitous whine. Triathlon Corollary to Whiskey Perspective : Sorry.
Triathlon Corollary to Whiskey Perspective 5, Second Take: There’s nothing stopping you from trying to salvage what’s left of the season. In fact, there’s real freedom when you’ve suddenly got less to lose. Maybe this is the year you learn to breathe bilaterally when you swim or tweak your position on the bike with the luxury to adjust gradually to the changes. Maybe you have to start running from scratch - although you have years of experience. Think what that’s actually going to do to your form. You could actually come out of all of this ahead. Whiskey Perspective 6: Exactly. Even bad Macallan is damn good whiskey. Triathlon Corollary to Whiskey Perspective : And even a bad year of triathlon is a damn good summer. Whiskey Perspective 7: I’ll drink to that. Triathlon Corollary to Whiskey Perspective 7: Knock yourself out. I’m going for a ride.
Here's an article from Inside Triathlon that I absolutely must share. It's a way of looking and laughing at ourselves during a triathlon. This talent is not easily cultivated, but it is nevertheless absolutely critical in triathlon. With all the opportunities the sport presents for making fools of ourselves - in front of spectators, no less - a good sense of humour will help make your day so much better.
Lessons From the Smartest Triathlete Alive
How one rookie's mistakes helped transform her into a better athlete, by Kathryn Bertine
When a fellow triathlete once asked me what my background was, I told him that I was from New York. By the time I got around to my French Huguenot ancestry, the man clarified himself. “What I meant was, are you a swimmer, biker, or runner?”
Oooooooh. That background. I mumbled something about running in high school, and then quickly slunk away. I had a lot to learn about triathlon, including how to spell the damn word so that it has only three syllables.
Three years have passed since I did my first tri-ath-a-lon. Although I have a lot more to discover, my understanding of the sport has grown considerably. I have learned that with flip turns you will get superior momentum if you push off the wall with your feet instead of your head. Hence, the flip turn should be performed before you hit the wall, not as you do so. Goggles do not need to be asphyxiate-the-eyeball tight, and goggle marks should disappear after a few hours, not a few months. Learn the metric system: one lap of a long course pool is not 100 kilometres – it is best to find this out before you swim with others. Bathing suits do in fact have a life span, and if you try to convince anyone otherwise, they will quite literally see right through you. When racing, if you are on a first-name basis with the man in the kayak, you need to practice swimming a little straighter.
I have also learned a thing or two about bikes. It is possible to fall off your trainer and have a near-death encounter with the coffee table. Helmets with big vents let in lots of nice, cool air. And small, mean bees. Spare tubes work best when taken with you on a ride. That spongy thing that comes with an aerobar water bottle is there to keep the water from splashing out over your bike and body. Do not throw it away thinking it is part of the packaging. The Big Chain Ring and the Little Chain Ring like to leave constellations of grease marks on your calves, which can later be observed on the southern hemisphere of your white couch.
A derailleur is not a French dessert. Every bicycle component has an actual name, but the best bike mechanics are fluent in “thingy.” Odd entities appear in bike lanes, and the discarded Happy Meal toy can be just as deadly as the bulky two-by-four, although more fun to collect and trade.
I have learned that for best results while doing a brick workout, you should change out of your cycling shoes before the run. Drinking or chowing down too much before going on a run is not advisable, but you have to do it once or twice to fully understand the repercussions. Eating or drinking too little will trigger an energy-depleted, ego-sapping condition known as “bonking,” the athletic synonym for “duh.” Running is most enjoyable with thin socks, cool weather, a hydrated body, and a well-fitting sports bra, of which only the first three exist.
If it is true that we learn best from our mistakes, then I just may be the smartest triathlete alive. The best advice I can offer fellow rookie tri-geeks is to laugh at these moments of absurdity, because if you stick with triathlon for a while, you’ll have some good material for the self-deprecating comedian in you. Laugh at the goofy mistakes now, and you may be smiling at some pretty savoury successes in the future. After all, if you are tough enough to collide with a cactus in practice, do you really think that a sweaty, thornless human competitor is going to be as difficult to pass during a race? Every beginner’s mishap is destined to be a positive deposit in the experience bank. Except road rash. That’s just plain awful.
Here's an article guaranteed to get you training for an Ironman. I have to admit that I'm an Ironman addict; I haven't done one yet, but Olympic distance and ITU stuff just doesn't do it for me. I want the fierce pride that comes with saying that I did an Ironman, that I endured hours on the bike, that my training amounts to a part-time job (on top of my full-time one). I want to go right to the limit of what this little human body can do.
An Ironman in the Making
Newbie Lesson No. 1: Ironman will consume your life, by Jim Taylor, PhD
Doing an Ironman is not a part-time endeavour. The race will be, for the six to nine months that you train for it, the guiding force in your life. You will spend many hours each week training. And you will spend even more hours each week thinking, dreaming, talking, reading, and surfing the Internet in pursuit of everything Ironman, Ironman will consume you.
Your life will revolve around training, sleeping (going to bed by 9pm and getting up before dairy farmers and West Coast stockbrokers), food (you can and want to eat everything in sight), and drink (I currently have seven forms of liquid in my fridge.) Your social life will revolve around 5am Masters swims, Saturday rides, and Sunday runs. If you are married, have children, or have friends who are not triathletes, heaven help them! (Hint: apologise in advance for your neglect and ask for their patience.)
Your conversations will revolve around your past triathlon experiences, your training program, your race goals, gathering training and racing tips from experienced Ironman finishers and tri mags, and figuring out which of the tips you should accept. You will be consumed by equipment and technology. You will ask essential life questions, such as “Will an aero seatpost make me faster?”…”700c or 650c?”, and “What is your favourite energy bar?”
You will obsess about the minutiae of triathlon. You will buy videos on swim technique. You will call the top pros by their nicknames – “Hey Macca! Walto!” You will read the latest research on Ironman nutrition. You will look forward to going to your local tri-store, hoping there is something you forgot to buy that you absolutely must have. You will make lists of what you will need in your Ironman, what you will put in each transition and special-needs bag, and what you will have to do the day before and the day of the race.
You will live for your daily workouts. You will have trouble falling asleep because you can’t wait to get up the next day and train. You will compulsively record every detail of your training program in your computer: distance, time, intensity, heart rate, splits, strokes per length, miles per hour, minutes per mile. You will track your progress. You will at first wonder how a person can enjoy swimming 100 laps in a 21.88 yard pool and riding a bike for more than seven hours and then come to understand how. You will revel in completing your first two-mile swim, 100-mile ride, and 20-mile run. You will add “brick” to your vocabulary and use it proudly. You will extrapolate your training and shorter race times to your Ironman (bad idea!) You will add up your weekly volume every Sunday and gush with pride as you approach 20 hours.
You will develop a deep and abiding hatred of water bottles. You will have at least 10 water bottles at some point in a never-ending cycle of Ironman life; on your bike, in the sink soaking with soapy water, in the dish rack drying, or taking up an entire counter in your kitchen poised and ready to return to your bike.
You will arrive late to work, take long lunch breaks, and leave early. You will fall asleep at your desk. You will pray that you have a forgiving boss or be thankful that you are your own boss.
Your body will look different – leaner, more muscular, more defined. You will walk differently – a new spring in your step, a bit of swagger in your gait. You will feel different – energized, yet tired; relaxed, yet jazzed. You will think differently, more confident, determined, and focused. After never experiencing the runner’s high, you will get the “tri-high” regularly. You will begin to think that training is better than sex.
You will experience more emotional highs and lows in one day than you usually feel in a week. You will feel excitement, frustration, hope, anger, despair, doubt, awe, sadness, and inspiration. You will question the meaning of your life and why you are doing an Ironman – you will come up with different answers every time. You will dream of qualifying for Kona, even if the only chance you have is to win the lottery. You will smile with joy at the thought of being an Ironman and cringe at the thought of not finishing.
After the race, you will feel like you are about ready to explode with pride. You won’t want to take off your finisher’s medal. You will look forward to wearing all of that over-priced, yet worth-every-cent Ironman clothing that you bought at the expo. You will have a new appreciation for race volunteers. You will feel special, like you’ve joined an exclusive club. You will say, “I am an Ironman.”
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Last updated August 3, 2008 by Helen Rooney
