Discipline vs Hunger. What is the "Right Way", Anyway?

After finishing the Deca Iron last November, people asked, "What's next?" I work in a bike shop, so the question came almost hourly.

My usual response was that I was going to spend 2013 getting some speed back.
In January, I sat down and put some goals to paper. I was going to do it "the right way", and get fast. Periodization, incremental increases, etc. I trained like this many years ago, and the gains were OK...but I was different back then. More of a Type A personality, I thrived on "getting my workout in" around work and other life obligations, but that was then. This is now March of 2013.

Two months from that day I sat down to pen those goals, I am about as out of shape as I have been in years. It is very clear that doing things "the right way" is not going to work for me. Looking at a calendar, with workouts planned in advance is not enough to get me out the door. The discipline just isn't there.
But I don't want discipline.

I want HUNGER, and not hunger to have discipline. Discipline is dreading a workout and doing it anyway, to stay on task. When hungry, the feeling of dreading a run or ride isn't even there. You WANT to workout everyday and it's what is on your mind every minute. When you have HUNGER, you don't need discipline. Somewhere, I lost the hunger.

Maybe it's because I've spent the last 3 years working toward that penultimate goal of 10x Iron, and having achieved it, I'm lost with where to go next, but I don't think so. My fault is when I tried to plan things out. Maybe 12 years ago, when I first came into triathlon, telling myself I was a badass triathlete(which I wasn't), and sacrificing things, scheduling workouts might have motivated me.

Maybe there is no "right way"... Everyone is different. I think it's time to go back to what works for me. Mass volume, heavy lifting, little sleep, and adventures.

Time to get fit again. With the increase in daylight coming this weekend, I hope you find your mojo as well! Cheers,
kp

For more on free-spirited training, check out my post on Training VS Adventuring over at Tentman.

Deca Iron Race Report

A Stone's Throw from the Asylum: The 10x Iron Report

It's mid-afternoon on a hot October day in Mexico. Hot for me, anyways. Apparently high 80s is temperate for the local folk here. I've been swimming for about 7 hours in an outdoor pool, and already the sun has scorched my back.

The nausea started 4 hours ago. Eating has been almost impossible. Nothing tastes good and everything makes me feel like unleashing the beast from within my stomach.

I come to the end of the pool, and stand up. Unsure of what to do next, I launch out of the water like Kevin Costner in Waterworld, and puke on the nearest tree.
The Deca has welcomed me early, in its own special way. Thanks?

Hopping back into the pool, I hope that's a one time deal, but no dice. I spend the afternoon swimming, trying to eat, and getting out periodically to stop the nausea.

The mileage melts away painfully slow. I'm burning off all the fat that I WORKED to put on in the last 6 weeks.. in the first damned day because I can't eat. Those reserves were supposed to help me out a week from now. Shit.

Late in the night, I'm somewhere around 15 miles into the 24 mile swim. I can't take the dry heaves anymore, and I'm spent from eating so little. I need to get out of the water. The temperature has dropped and my depleted body's core temp drops instantly. I look like a trembling wet chihuahua as my Dad throws towels and a sleeping bag over me. Sitting there in a lawn chair, watching my counterpart Simon of Great Britain swim with no issues whatsoever, I burp. And heave. And get more frustrated by the minute. My Dad knows I'm screwed up, so he just says nothing. The silence is accepted because my internal dialogue is doing all of the talking for both of us.

I want to quit.
But it's the first night of many. You're just getting started.
I can't keep going without food.
Your body will come out of it.
This sucks.
Don't forget you said you were racing to honor Adrianne's life. How would quitting at the first onset of adversity look?
True.
Hey Kale, get in the fucking pool.

I jump in and freeze my butt off for the rest of the night, just plowing through mileage, and eating if and when I can. The sheer distance does not play a role in my headspace until the final 4 miles, which feel like I'm swimming through quicksand. Each stroke more tiring than the previous; each pool length mind-bendingly longer with each lap. I try not to think about the current pain...but try to start wrapping my head around the pain about to come: 1120 miles of cycling.

Finally...about 8 hours longer than expected, I swim my last lap. Sweet, sweet survival. I cannot explain how elated I am to be on dry ground for the rest of the event. In the quintuple, I was happy to have completed a 12 mile swim...but it was just a 12 mile swim. 24 miles is serious business.
It's longer than the English Channel.

It is 11am Monday, 27 hours into the event, I decide to not sleep after the swim and get right on with the cycling portion. I figure there's no time like the present to get on with cycling a distance equivalent to going from Maine to Georgia.

The day goes by fast, and before I know it, 36 hours have passed on the race clock. My Dad and I determine it's time for a sleep....and then starts what I have begun to call Bike Blur Time. Let me explain.

When swimming, a person is engaged. The mix of having one's face in the water and the nonstop personal checks of technique keep a person alert. While running, especially at the ultra distances, there's very little "zoning out" because every step hurts.

On the bike, however, things are different- especially at these distances. You simply sit there and move your legs. It is possible to drift away mentally to a faraway place(good or bad), especially on a 1 kilometer course, where after only a few hours of riding, you know every bump, turn, and hazard by heart.

Of the bike, I remember certain key events, and only those events. The five and a half days I spent on the bike all blend into one major mix of extreme physical pain, fatigue I have never seen, and mental torture.

During the first couple of days riding, Simon and I sided against common sense, and slept as little as possible. Why did we do this? Simple. To literally beat the piss out of each other for every waking hour, for days on end. Too hot in the afternoon? So what. Too tired to keep going? Oh, Simon's still out on the course, so no sleep allowed tonight. At one point, we had amassed 300 Kilometers in 10 hours...suicide pace on that course, at those distances.
It was fun when I was on high points, and incredibly dreadful during valleys. People in the other races were telling us to stop. We couldn't. We both knew the damage we were inflicting upon each other, but neither of us would break.

One particular night after we had been ripping around the course for about 5 hours RACING, Simon rolled up to me, and we both just looked at each other and started laughing. We knew were being stupid. At that point, we called a truce. The truth was that the bike wasn't even close to the START of this thing. 262 miles of running is no joke. Anything could happen and probably would happen.

This wasn't the only time Simon and I would have a mutual moment on the bike. At one point we were riding together, and I had recently hit 1,000 miles. We were both thinking aloud about how amazing it would be to finish the bike. It seemed so impossible just a few days ago, and here we were, within a half-day of getting it done. I couldn't hold it in. I just lost it, and he did the same. 2 grown men crying like little kids. I'm sure when we rolled by our crews just minutes later, they were wondering what the hell was going on out there on the course.

I also recall the Friday night before I finished the bike.. I was making a late-night push to get extra mileage in. I had been making shitty time all day, and I did not want to see a Sunday morning sunrise while I was still on the bike, so I went to the well and dug down deep. Around 2am, my Dad stopped me, pissed off.
"Hey, were you just sleeping on the bike?" Apparently I had dozed while going down the small hill on the course.

"No, I was just listening to my MP3 player on the backstretch."
"That has nothing to do with what I'm talking about."
"Whatever, I'm fine."

I pedaled off, swearing like an irrational demon. 2 laps passed, and it hit me. I could not, for the life of me, remember what had happened between my Dad yelling at me, and the current moment. No recollection whatsoever of those last 2 laps.
I elected to go bed, only to wake up a couple hours later, and live the same nightmare that I had gone through the last 3 days.

On Saturday night, I couldn't take it anymore. I was turning myself inside out to average 10 miles per hour...and the bike finish was a stone's throw away. The fatigue was so much that even the prospect of finishing the bike couldn't move me faster or keep me awake. My dad and I went to bed around 10pm. I awoke at midnight, feeling much clearer. Dad was so tired that I chose to let him sleep...a decision I would later regret deeply.
Once I got on the bike, all I could think was FINISH FINISH FINISH FINISH. It consumed me like nothing ever had before. Ever. I pedaled my ass off for 4 hours. Alone. It was weird to me at the time, but I couldn't understand why. All I knew is that I was finishing. Soon. The final beep of the computerized lap counter came through my ears, and I stopped, just across the line.

The nightmare had come to an end. It was a strange feeling, and now that I look back on it, I know why. I had just biked 1120 miles, and the only person to see the end of this major achievement was the timer. Not Simon. Not Pete, Simon's crewman. And most importantly, the guy who helped me do it, my Dad. I did a lap of the run course and decided I was going to sleep again for a long while, because I was not right mentally. When I came into our room where the tent was set up, Dad was just getting up. He thought I was getting ready to go out on the bike and finish. Rightfully, he was very upset when he learned that I was already done. I was thinking about him when I let him sleep longer that night, but I failed to realize that he would've wanted to see the end of the bike. I felt and still feel terrible about that. I can't stress enough how skewed a sleep-deprived mind and overworked body can be. Logic of a mid-race deca athlete is not the logic of a normal person.


The Run.

4 hours later, I crawled out of the tent, energized. A 262 mile run is hardly the "home stretch" of a Deca, but it is a small pinpoint of light at the end of a very long tunnel. I figured it couldn't be much worse than the mental torture of having a bike seat shoved up your ass for 5 days.

The first 5 or 6 hours of the run were bliss, just riding the high of the bike finish, but the bliss was tempered by the 100 degree afternoon, and the start of my largest run issue: the shits.

The heat during the days on the run was at times unbearable. The original goal was to sleep during the hottest part of the day, but that went out the window when I learned that I simply COULD NOT stay awake from 4-6am. I had to sleep sometime, and unfortunately my body was too hardwired for those hours. This meant sucking it up and dealing with the heat. I dunked a shirt in cold water and wrapped it around my head, spending the afternoons staggering across the shadeless backstretch of new pavement. Some afternoons, the heat reflecting off the pavement had to be 120+.

The heat would come and go, but my bathroom issues were around the clock. I found myself carrying toilet paper around the course, stopping sometimes 2-3 times an hour to expel what I had eaten just an hour ago. It was madness.

While I dealt with heat and diarrhea, Simon was dealing with blisters. I knew those were coming, so I just plugged the miles away and tried to take care of beginning blisters the best I could: shoes and socks off, slit and drain, duct tape, shoes and socks back on, GO.

Around 150 miles, the pressure of the upper part of my shoe was too much: my feet were swelling. It was time to fish out the Big Boys from my luggage. Size 13 running shoes...I normally wear size 11. Instantly the relief amazing.

200 miles in, the real blisters started...not the ones in between or on your toes, or even on your achilles. Those are nothing. The REAL blisters that can ruin your entire life are the ones on the balls of your feet. Every footstep misery.

At one point, I had to get out of my shoes. My feet were wet with sweat and that wasn't helping the blisters at all. I had a pair of thong sandals that I had worn to the race. I ripped off the thong part and duct taped the sandals to my foot. Within 2 laps, the blister on my right foot had exploded. It is not normal how much fluid came from that. My whole foot and sandal was soaking wet, but finally the pain and pressure was gone. Shoes back on.

Somewhere around mile 220, I was wrecked. I had just watched Simon finish, and I really couldn't go anymore. Feet: unbelievably sore and in pain.
I didn't want to stop, but had to. I was too tired. Stopping was easy, but getting going again was another story. Every time I stopped, it took 2 miles of absolute hell to move normally again.

When I woke next, I decided that I wouldn't be stopping again until I finished. I couldn't bear the prospect of getting started again. I just couldn't do it. I went to work. I ate on the run. I drank on the run. I forced myself to only use the bathroom once an hour. I didn't care if it killed me.

70 kilometers later, on that Friday afternoon, I was running with my new friend Caleb, and was less than 5 miles from the finish. He was a local guy who worked outside the park we were racing in. A marathon runner of 25 years of age, he had come out on his lunch break and run with me for the last couple of days, and I was very lucky to have him. Every time he showed up, I was in the mental lows, and every time, we would chat about his culture, our similar music tastes, and life in general. It was a welcome reprieve from the race itself. My Dad told me to slow down.

I didn't understand why. I was almost done. He explained that all of the racers from the other events were headed to the course to watch my finish. I chilled out and walked a few laps. On the start of my last lap, I came through the arches and saw them all there, cheering. The last week and a half, all racers had an unspoken agreement to stop their current race and hang out at the finish line if someone was about to finish another race. It's a small part of the camaraderie we share.

Grabbing the American flag, I began the last lap, running up the steep hill that I had walked 419 times before. I got to the sauna of a backstretch and started crying. I had to stop and stand there in the heat because I couldn't catch my breath because I was so emotional. In just 5 more minutes, this insane journey would be over. The cold, pukey night of the swim seemed like a lifetime ago. The mind-bending bike ride didn't even seem real.

All that WAS real was each footstep during that last kilometer. I didn't feel the pain in my feet, the cramping in my stomach, or the fatigue that had me staggering just hours ago. As the finish line came closer, random memories of the whole race flashed before my eyes:
-the time Wayne Kurtz and his wife forced me off the bike to eat 2 massive chicken sandwiches.
-riding and chatting with all of the other participants in the other races and watching them cross their finish lines
-the stray cats tearing the bird apart, and the mystery mammal rodent armadillo beast that some of us saw.
-the strange, strange workout routines of some of the locals every morning.
-the terrible food, but incredibly nice kitchen staff

All of it was finished. I came through the arches one last time, and stopped, unsure of what to do. Beer was poured on me. I shook hands with the Race Director, hugged the other athletes and my Dad, without whom I would not have finished this race. He put himself through the ringer to get me through this. Bad food and no sleep, scary taxi rides, and a language barrier were just a few things he had to face, and no one could have done it better.

Special thanks to him, as well as my other family and friends for all of the support the last few years. That one night on the run when I checked my messages, I was blown away. It took a week to catch up, and because of you all, I had a mental boost whenever I needed it. All I needed to do was check my Facebook. Thank you, thank you.

Also, please check out the sponsors next to this post on the side bar. I wouldn't have even been able to get to the start line without Meineke Car Care Center in Laconia, NH, MC Cycle of Laconia, or Northern Physical Therapy in Presque Isle, ME.

Upping My Meds

I'm sitting here in my apartment, sweating.
Dishes in the sink. Laundry on the floor.
The cats, usually flying around the apartment this time of night, are spread out on the floor hoping to find the last piece of cool flooring.

There's coffee in the cup next to me, and I'm watching Youtube videos trying to get my ass motivated. The heat does nothing to help this. I'm inside two weeks until the 24 Hour run and tonight is the last big night of training. I wont be stepping foot outside until the sun does down.

I can't wait for the race. I've had a couple days to myself, and it's given me some time to tap in to my mental status and see where my head's at in relationship to not only the 24 Hr run, but the Deca as well.

Training is good, but I haven't taken time to sync my mind and body to learn the patience of a race this long, and that's what tonight's about. Settling into a rhythm where...in my head, there is nothing. When I mean nothing, I mean absolutely hollow. Complete mindlessness. The mileage and hours blend together and you actually forget everything that's happened over the course of hours.
This past october, I did a Triple Iron for which I was grossly under-trained. After a 7.2 mile swim, 336 mile bike, I made it 40+ miles into the run before things actually needed focus. That's the mindlessness I crave and the reason I do this. To say these events are about fitness would be a blatant lie. I take distance and pain the way a junkie takes heroin.

This mental training is my favorite, but has been neglected this year. I've really strived to get my fast twitch fibers going this year. Fast twitch and zoning out don't exactly mix. When you're going hard, you're much more focused.

So now it's time to throw the shoes on. Headlight batteries fully charged. Food and water in a small pack.
Minutes bleed to miles. Miles bleed to hours... and the darkness of the night overpowers the heat of the day.
Time to take my medicine and defocus.

thanks for reading,
krp

Pirate Tri Weekend 2012

Had a great time this past weekend at the Pirate Tri on Sebago!

Took a sweet ride from the shop and biked towards Maine. Biked illegally(unknowingly) on a highway to get there, and as Murphy's Law would have it, I flatted. I also had no deep dish 80mm tubes. So, after getting a stern talking to from a NH State Trooper, I ran to the next exit with my bike and full pack on.

After about 4 hours of running and walking, my buddy Troy of Northern Physical Therapy picked me up. Went to bed late, and woke up early for the race.

Because of the heavy pack I was carrying, I opted for no wetsuit. Bad choice. The water was so cold, I couldn't stop hyperventilating. I haven't swam that slow since my first triathlon. Awful. 140th "fastest". Always a bad sign to see everyone's bike already gone when you get to transition after the swim!

Onto the bike. I was happy to have a road bike instead of a time trial bike on the crazy hilly course. I passed just about everyone on the course, and when I hit the transition area, I was the first to rack the bike on my group's rack. Always a good sign. 8th fastest bike. Time to run.

I found that spot just below wanting to puke and stayed there. Passed a handful of people and just rolled along. Not sure where I pulled out a 19:40 5k(6th fastest). Not that a 19:40 is super fast at all, but I've only done one speed session, and certainly nothing in that pace range. Speed isn't exactly a priority when training for the Deca. Nevertheless, I was happy with my race at 14th overall and an age group win. Kind of kicked myself for my swim. It cost me a top 5 finish overall, but that's ok. This was nowhere near a priority race, so the turnout was way better than expected.

After a beer with Troy, I got my pack on and headed back to New Hampshire, arriving just before dark. Awesome weekend.

krp

To Run

To run is to flip the middle finger to the world.

The trend is fat and sloppy.
The norm is to work yourself to the bones and buy the next new thing.
The next new thing will always be "EASIER, BIGGER, BETTER!"
The next new thing will always yield the same or worse result.

Society wants to make you lethargic about life and stressed about obligations you've created just to fit in with them.

To run is to be free of it all.
They can't catch you out there. They're too weighed down by it all.
They hate that you have your own mental space. They can't touch it or take it, or find their own, and it makes them crazy.
They call you a "fanatic" because you have a passion outside of their cubicle world.

You have seen a place where all that exists is movement and food and water- and this is all that matters... all that should matter.

To run is to simplify.
To run is to live.

"The thing I treasure most in life cannot be taken away
There will never be a reason why I will surrender to your advice
To change myself, I'd rather die
Though they will not understand
I will make the greatest sacrifice
You can't predict where the outcome lies
You'll never take me alive
I'm alive"
-Disturbed

Shoe Review: Skechers Go Run

As many of you know, I recently started a job at an outdoor outfitter. And while I peddle gear, I am not a "gear guy". I don't like having tons of stuff. I don't get excited about new technology. I commute 30 miles each way every day on a 1993 Trek 1100, with a plastic messenger bag I got for free at a convention 7 years ago. The zipper is broken, so I use a trash bag on rainy days. Just some background.

On my first day, I met Nate Sanel, an ultrarunner and motorcycle shop owner. We chatted a little bit about running and shoes.
He brought up his ties to Skechers, and I stared blankly at him, totally unaware that the company had even considered breaking into the running industry.

Nate was adamant that these things were the real deal. To be honest I was skeptical, given Skecher's history of such inventions as the Shape-Ups "toning" shoe. He mentioned that they had sent him a test pair of a design called the Go Run that was a tad big for him...and that size just happened to be mine.

A couple weeks later, Nate dropped the shoes off for me. I immediately tried them on, interested to try a pair of shoes that hadn't hit the market yet, and curious about the rocker design.

First thing I noticed was an uncomfortable lump in the middle of my foot. Second thing I noticed was how unbelievably light they were. I spent the last few hours at work analyzing just what in the heck the purpose of the lump was.

On my first run, I figured it out. The Go Runs are not meant for standing around at work. They are meant for running. That lump is nonexistent while running, as the shoe's design forces you into a more efficient running style- not just landing mid to forefoot, but landing under the hips.
I am a midfoot striker already, but what I found is that while wearing this shoe, my turnover increased. As you may or may not know, fast leg-speed is much more efficient and leads to faster speed overall.

I generally do not wear socks while running, so I also found the the super-soft upper material to be a plus.

There is very little structure in the mid-sole, other than the lump I referred to. The rest is soft foam, and the shoe has no torsional rigidity to speak of. Think old-school Nike Waffles.

Bottom Line: I believe in the biomechanics of the foot and the body, but am skeptical of most minimalist shoes. However, the Skechers Go Run is a shoe I can hop on board with... at this time for shorter distances of marathon and under. Runners accustomed to the minimalist experience would be able to go long in this shoe. I would recommend using them in speed workouts and tempo runs, and gradually working them into longer runs.

Resolution Proposal for the Original Gangstas of Fitness

We're merely weeks away from 2012.

January 1.
New Years.

Soon, the gym you know will not be the same.
You'll enter at the normal hour, and the treadmill you always use at that time will be occupied.

Flustered, you look over towards the stationary bike you sometimes use, and are frustrated to find that again, someone has dominated your usual machinery.

Glancing around the gym, the scene is the same: sweaty people fumbling with buttons on the cardio machines, constantly adjusting equipment, eyes darting around self-consciously.

Ah, yes. Resolution Season is almost here.
And this is where I throw you off.

I've been participating in endurance sports all of my life. I cannot help but notice that the further I continue on this journey of fitness, the more jaded I become. I think this happens to anyone who experiences too much in one particular area.
Been there, done that, becomes the attitude.

Most Original Gangstas in the fitness community can't help but look at the Posers with disdain and disgust.
It's not because of their weight or their appearance, it's just drastic perspective difference. People that LIVE the fitness lifestyle look forward to and enjoy their training. Resolutioners look at their workouts like a chore, and value their workout about as much as they value cleaning their toilet. This is why they last until about.... mid February at best. As long as the thought of a workout as misery prevails, fitness will not.

Maybe it's time for a change of perspective for the OGs in the fitness world. It's so easy to be a prick, sitting there glaring at the people struggling to bench a bar with no weight on it.

Instead of counting down the hours and minutes until another Resolution dream is crushed, why not look at the influx of new people in the gym as a chance to create new recruits to the army of the fit?
I think most give up because they have no idea what they are doing. Ignorance is not bliss in the gym.
Why not give some tips? Exchange email addresses if the encounter is good, and hold them accountable.

I'm not saying make a new workout partner, but shooting them an email asking how their workouts are going once in a while is enough to keep some people going...maybe enough even to get over that mid-February hump.
One winter, I did something like this, and started a running group for beginners. Some of these people are now very good friends of mine.
To see some of them now running ultras and becoming serious athletes is more rewarding than my own accomplishments.

We OGs have this foundation of knowledge from years and years of living and breathing and dreaming fitness. Why continue on this odyssey by selfishly withholding information that might otherwise make something click in someone?
Of course, motivation cannot be coached, and some people just don't want it bad enough.
However, some do. They just don't know where to start.
That's where we come in.

Happy Holidays.
Thanks for reading,

kalerp

Multi-Day Racing, Detriment?

I'm still waiting on the word from Jorge down in Mexico as to whether there will be a Deca next year.

My 2012 race plans kind of hinge on that. He says it's very difficult to talk to the government about using the Parques Des Heroes, and the wheels turn slow.

I'm kind of caught in this mind-bending scenario where I want everything.
It was easy when the only thing I wanted in life was to race.

Now that I am living civilized and paying rent, all I want to do is STOP paying rent and start owning something... Racing stays at the forefront of my brain at all times, like a money-sucking leech.
The very real idea that I am going to have to do one or the other bugs the living piss out of me, and only adds to my manic training-working-no sleeping life.
Never can I dismiss my most expensive addiction. Is this sport a detriment to me? I think of the thousands of dollars of my own money that I've put into it over the last decade, and that's a down-payment on a house.

And then I think about the night I rode from Presque Isle to Bangor on a full moon, fully able to see Mt. Katahdin from route 2 in the shadows at 2 am.
Or the all night 50 mile run at the Relay for Life, when the miles came effortlessly.
Or the time Andy talked me into the winter version of the Death Race, and I chopped wood for 8 hours, then proceeded to carry it up a mountain in the snow....without snowshoes.
Or the blurriness of racing for 5 days straight, and how after crossing the finish line, everything in your life is so much clearer...even with a sleep-deprived mind.

Experiences like these cannot be photographed. They aren't tangible. My friends are all married with kids and dogs and houses and snowmobiles. I traded all of that for hardening experiences. I'm not sure whether this is good or bad. Who is to say?

All I know is that everyday I wake up and I'm surprised to find that during the night, a gigantic pansy has taken over my body like cancer.
So everyday, I put on my shoes and administer chemo.
Time for my daily treatment.

Quintuple Iron Finish

Quintuple Iron Race Report

The Commuter

doubting the world
i exhale, in the dark

pedaling. pondering.
both require spinning

i turn down main street
storefront displays alight
empty sidewalks

stoplights blink
at no one
and oblige my right turn

a leaf crinkles
during a night breeze
a hum of rubber tires
dismissing untold miles

but the moon prevails
in silence.




krp

i run on

brush past some prickles
blood seeps out my shin
branches with icicles
mud streaks on my chin

my thoughts are gone
so i run on

the only way to derail
from this crazy train
is to get on the trail
and stop my brain

my thoughts are gone
so i run on

my feet: scuffed and tired
keep going: the only choice
must use the inner fire
and ignore the quitter voice

my thoughts are gone
so i run on

3x Iron, a Dysfunctional Family Reunion

Friday, October 7th, 2011.
It is still dark at 6:45 am and under 50 degrees.
It seems as though the sun is not going to rise today.

The start of the Virginia Triple Iron, a 7.2 mile swim, 336 mile bike, and 78 mile run, is supposed to be in 15 minutes.
Steve Kirby, Race Director, herds shivering athletes, friends, and family to the shore of Lake Anna, where a dense fog still clings to the water. We are all grouped together for a photo, and for the magnitude of such a large event looming, there isn't one straight face there. This is just one reason I am standing in line with these other whackos: No Triathlon/Cycling Geek Attitude.
This event is simply too long to take seriously. The only thing you can do is keep a good attitude and adapt to the challenges of the weekend.

We get in the water, and I slap a high five with Jaime. To the lakeside spectator, Jaime and I were just amped to be starting, but he and I knew that we were both about to just work on surviving the morning. Last year at the Double Iron, we exited the water dead last, and were expecting to probably have the same result today.

I wasn't sure about him though, as I had heard him earlier, talking about actually training for the swim this year. As for myself, I knew it wasn't going to be pretty, having not swam a stroke since May (I had been living on a mountain for work). My goal was to flop around in the water like a wounded dolphin for about 6 hours, and then start the race.

Sure enough, one and a half hours after the second to last person had come out of the water, I emerged, laughing and apologetic for having my crew sit there by the lake for an entire morning. To put things in perspective, my buddy Andy(who had been training for an English Channel swim) had broken the swim course record that same morning, and was out of the water in 2 hours, 54 minutes.

The good news was that I had stayed on top of my nutrition for six hours, and was coming out of the water with a stomach that was not unsettled. Nicole, Tina, and I walked up to the bike course, and my parents and Amy helped get me ready to sit on the bike for a long, long time.

Knowing my swim was going to be absolutely awful, I planned to make a ton of time up on the bike. I wasn't planning on trying to win the race or anything, because I knew my mountain summer had cut into my training pretty hard. I just wanted to be done by early Sunday, so I wouldn't have to deal with the hot afternoon temperatures on the run.

Friday afternoon was spent just pedaling kind of mindlessly and catching up with guys like Joe Trettel and Sauerbrey, Chris Trimmer, and meeting the new athletes to the sport. The ultra triathlon community is pretty small, so we all know each other from one race or another. It really makes these races seem less like competition and more like family reunion. There are so few people who live this lifestyle, that it's always nice to either vent to an understanding peer about the financial side of the sport, or get a tip as to how they fit the training in around "normal" life. It is a unique bond we share, and it was an honor to meet people like Frank Fumich, who has done some serious adventuring around the world, and Kathy Roche-Wallace, who completed RAAM this year.

We all seemed to be pedaling at about the same rate for most of the ride...that is, except for the other half of Team Awesome, a name which I just made up a second ago.
My family(Mom, Dad, Amy), Tina, and Nicole were not just crewing for me. We had a prior arrangement to crew for Ghislain Marechal, from France/Belgium. He was absolutely wrecking the course, lapping everyone, and breaking the bike course record in the process. He would tell me after the race that his goal was to blow the race wide apart, and it worked.
He was going so fast, that everyone else thought they were going too slow. For many, it was their first Triple. Numerous athletes either dropped from the race or dropped down to the Double Iron as a result of him.

When night fell, most people stopped riding side by side, and began the tedium of clicking off mileage in the dark, in silence.
For some reason, I rarely remember the events of the nights spent cycling in these races. It was cold.
The toll of the ride was beginning to show, and highs and lows were rearing their heads. You might pass someone pedaling at 60 rpm, lights wobbling as they tried to stay awake in the late hours of the night and early hours of the morning.

At some point just before sunup, I was absolutely frozen, and on the downhill into the turnaround, I found myself nodding off. I elected to crawl into my sleeping bag and pass out for 20 minutes or so. At this point, Ghislain and Kamil were already off the bike and waging war on the run. Needless to say, I wasn't very happy about still having a significant chunk of mileage to do on the bike. Pretty sure I wasted a lot of energy on the swim just trying to get it done.

I got back on the bike, and stayed there, secretly hoping I would find a point of ignition like I always seem to during the last miles of the bike, and be done by noon. Generally my last miles are the quickest and happiest, but this would not be so today.
By 10am, I was pissed. The sun was coming up, and I had to ditch layers of clothing, which required stopping. This irked me even more. Somewhere around noon, I still had 50ish miles to go, and the Double Iron athletes were flooding the course. I had my second meltdown in 2 hours. So bothered by still being out there pedaling, I began ignoring my crew, because I knew if I opened my mouth, anything that came out would be evil and irrational. Instead, I did the self-destruction thing, and let Mr. Hyde take over. Whereas I was ignoring my crew and wasn't eating, I was becoming erratic. Every now and then I would just take off sprinting and swearing on my bike in a temper tantrum.

Off the bike around 4pm, I pledged to the crew that the run was NOT going to go like the bike. I was going to stay positive if it killed me. Nicole ran the first 14 miles with me, and then I grabbed my Ipod and plowed through a marathon. The first 45 miles of the run went by in a blink, and it was nice to run with Amy here and there. We all watched in amazement as Kamil finished his last lap and broke the course record, finishing the race in 39 hours, 55 minutes.

For a long time, it seemed like a lot of the Triple athletes weren't even on the course. Perhaps they were crashing during the coldest part of the night?
Somewhere around the 52 mile mark, I began the early morning stagger, and elected to take a short 20 minute nap before things got bad. Attitude was still great, and I wanted to keep it that way.

Daylight came, and with it, the Virginia heat that seems to cripple me every year there. With 20ish miles to go, the heat was in furnace mode, reflecting off the pavement. I hit the port-a-potty to bag balm my problem chaffing and umm...tend to business. Ghislain had been done for a while(2nd place!) and was hanging with the crew. He and my Dad got a bright idea.
I came out of the toilet to applause and cameras everywhere. Looking above, the finisher's banner had been placed over the toilet. Everyone laughed. It was a moment of levity that was certainly needed.

Another lap or two later, I had to put my feet up, as they were swelling like crazy. In an attempt to stay positive, I exclaimed,"After this, only 8 laps to go!" My dad misinterpreted what I said and agreed. After a lap, he realized an error and corrected me on the next lap. I still had 9 to go. In these races, this is an absolute detriment to your mental status.
I chugged a Red Bull, and Mr. Hyde came out for two fast laps. Slipknot blasted in my headphones, and I went to a very dark place in my head. Other athletes tried talking to me, and I couldn't do it. Just couldn't. The only thing out of my mouth would have been just awful. I NEEDED to bring the lap count to something that was manageable in my head before I could be social again. Those 4 miles were the fastest of the whole run, over 60 miles in.
Someday, I will find a way to keep Mr. Hyde on for a whole race. There has to be a way to harness that.

I spent the next 5 laps just walking. The heat was broiling, and there was zero shade. I resigned myself to the fact that I would be walking the last few laps, and that I might just as well enjoy it. Ghislain biked alongside me for a few laps, forcing me to dump freezing water on my head. We shot the shit and laughed, while I tried not to complain too much.
He peeled off to bike alongside the legend Guy Rossi, who was running in the Double, and finally there were two laps left.
Jake Holscher's crewman picked up where Ghislain stopped. We talked about his ultra running, and the possibility of him doing this one day.

Before I knew it, I was on the last lap. The last lap of these things are always kind of cool. It's a celebration of the events, highs, and lows of the weekend. All of the Double athletes were cheering as I passed them. I said goodbye to Adam at the run turnaround, who I met in '09 here at the Triple, and started the last mile of the 78 mile run. Down the last long gradual hill, and across the shadeless false flat, I looked down to the finish and saw a small crowd gathering.

This was it. The memory of the 2009 injury and DNF could now be forever forgotten.
Grabbed the American flag, and the anthem began blaring.

Crossing the line, I finished about 7 hours slower than I hoped, but overall in a great mood. It was an awesome feeling shaking Steve's hand, and having Team Awesome be there for the photos. One of my favorite parts about having crew from all eras of my life at an event, is seeing friends of mine from different times of my life meet and become peas in a pod in just one weekend.

Thanks cannot be said enough to Amy, Nicole, Tina, and my parents, as well as Ghislain for riding alongside me at a time where I may have had another meltdown if left to my own thoughts. Just an amazing weekend.

So, to the resume, add the 2x, 3x, and 5x. Steve said it best:
"Those numbers add up to 10. Now you just have to go and do them all at once."

Word.



thanks for reading,
krp

Philosophy: Training with the Seasons and Cowboy-ing Up

I am always astounded at how much the weather of the seasons of New England perfectly match my racing schedule.

In the winter, I am drawn to the gym. Not because of the snow and ice which I actually love, but because I just feel like lifting and doing something different than I've done all year.

Spring brings about renewal for most things, including an evaluation of where I'm at mentally, which has always been a time where I decide to recommit to racing and the demands of the training.

The long days of summer give me additional time to put in the long hours necessary to complete these events. The sunny days provide energy to do so.

Fall brings a lull in daylight, and training. The cooler temperatures give me a good reason to chill out on the bike, do a little more running, and generally tone down the training load. This creates a natural taper for the big fall races.

To follow a training regimen where every workout is planned for the next year sounds awful. I tried that about 5 years ago, and it quickly grew boring. I began to not look forward to training. It became work. The gains weren't even that great.

I see these athletes training by the 10% rule and shake my head. How can you possibly make leaps and bounds increasing things at 10%? The conservative, left-brained athlete is boring... following heart rates and numbers, and letting those things dictate their next workouts.

Did you know most professional triathletes are now doing 90% or more of their rides indoors on Computrainers, where everything is measured and evaluated?
I say ignore all that shit and be reckless. One of my favorite sports stories of all time is from the 1989 Tour De France, when Greg LeMond ditched all technology and told his team NOT to give him splits in the race's final time trial, and he made up an unbelievable deficit-over 2 seconds per kilometer- winning le Tour in one of the closest races of all time.

Believe in yourself, and listen to your body. Will yourself into the fitness you want, and train with the seasons. If you've made a commitment to training and it is your lifestyle, everything else will fall into place. The season is changing right this second, just step out the door.

krp

Jekyll and Hyde go to Lake Anna

Well, it's that time of year again.
Cooler nights. Shorter days.
It can only mean one thing.
Ultra Tri season is here.

I've been on the fence for...well...all summer about going to Virginia for the Triple Iron. One day I'm in. Next day I'm not.
It all has to do with money, and I hate that. So much.

The reality is that, no matter what my situation is financially, I gotta do it.
What I achieve down there has nothing to do with being a fitness dork, nor does it have anything to do with the accomplishment of doing 3 times the distance of what many consider the pinnacle of triathlon.

It's the silence in the water, in between the coughs of Lake Anna exiting my lungs.

It's the calm and settling in of night 1, knowing that by the end of the night and the rise of the next sun, I will still be there. Pedaling. Perhaps tranquil in the gray predawn light, or maybe half asleep and full of despair, or if I'm lucky, I'll be in angry-zombie-biker- mode, clicking off fast, hard laps. Race mood swings have earned me the nickname of Jekyll and Hyde.

It's the sound of my own footsteps, rhythmic in the night, looking up the gigantic hill that looked so gradual 30 hours ago.

I need these things every fall, to remind myself why I walk out the door every day and lace up my running shoes.
Why I've made so many sacrifices in my life in pursuit of not so much fitness, but enlightenment.
The last few years, I have entered the water at Lake Anna and seen the dimension where the rules of the universe no longer apply, delving into a world of absolute weakness and absolute power.
Each time, I have exited a new and stronger person.

I don't want to race at Lake Anna.
I need to.

krp

anomaly

anomaly
i walk this earth on two feet
but it feels like, to me, to be
human is weak
the feelings, the pain, you can have just have it
i'll turn myself into a beast
like it's magic
tragic:
to become just a slave to the race
is it you, or is it me
that needs to be
put in their place?

krp

Rambling

I'm not sure how I need to write this.
Bear with me.

There are a lot of questions and hypothetical scenarios swirling about right now.

For the last 8 months, there has been no real career plan...no LIFE plan.
Only a race plan: Deca 2011. All else: secondary.

Plane tickets for Mexico were paid for by Katherine, whom I was coaching.
All I needed was my entry fee, which I could have easily had paid for.

A few weeks ago, my plan was flipped totally upside down when I came from the woods: Mexico was cancelled.

There would be a new race in Italy, 1 month prior to the scheduled Mexico race, but my tickets would not be transferrable.

I set about looking for options, but my being in the mountains for 10 days at a time, with only 3 full days off, would be a large hinderance. Who could sponsor me? How could I raise this money? The budget would total more than $5,000 just to cover the most basic arrangements- not including food, or flying my bike, or other unforeseen expenses.

The hard truth is that I cannot get this together in the next 2 months, having only 6 full days off per month...the other 24-25 being away from any and all technology. Doing the math, I only have 9 days to get this together before I would have to think about leaving for Italy.
Who could have predicted my life choices, always passion-motivated, would virtually kill my chances of racing a Deca in 2011?

That was not easy to write, as I have only hinted around it to my parents and a few others.

Could this last-minute cancellation of Mexico be some kind of divine intervention?
Kale, get your life together.
Kale, these efforts are selfish. Get a cause.
Kale, get a career.
Kale, get some more racing under your belt first.
Kale, you're going to be 30 next year.
Kale, use your scorn as fire for next year, a la Triple DNF=Quintuple Finish.

Do I want to go another winter in a job I absolutely hate, or do I look for a compromise...a job with benefits that I can deal with year-round?
As you can see, there are a lot of things going on in my head, and this is why I maybe need to take some time and focus up after this summer of fun in the mountains.

The temporary closing of 1 door opens many others for the fall.
I'll go back to Virginia, and finish the Triple. Get back to my running roots and try to improve my times in ultras.
Not a step back, but a lateral step, to become a faster, tougher Ultra triathlete for 2012, where the Deca will be a priority.

I REALLY want to thank those that have believed in me all along, and supported me mentally or financially.
This is not an easy thing to deal with, having looked forward to it since the second I crossed the 5x finish line, but I take solace in the fact that every down has an upswing, and I ALWAYS make sure the upswing is equal or greater.

Part of me is still waiting on a miracle to come through, but I have to also look at reality.
The miracle-hoping side of me is the same side of me that just assumed sponsors would come flocking to me by the dozens after my Quintuple finish, which they did not.
Still considered very young for these distances, I plan on some pretty big things in the next 10 years.
The only thing I can do is keep putting notches in my belt, and more importantly to me now than ever: inspire and help people in the years to come.

"New life, in place of, old life....unscarred by trials" Pantera

krp

simplicity: impossible
a carrot over my head

never to be reached?

escape to the high peaks
only to find a valley

time out
morphs into
a time out

"think about what you've done"
sitting on rocks, basking in the sun
no distraction

but, for once
i could use one.

Inspirations Series: Part 1- Bruce Bell

It was my first week of middle school.

Things were....odd.
If this was to be expected, I sure didn't know it.

A lot of things had changed since I "graduated" from 6th grade.
I had gone from confident kid with buck-teeth to lanky, ugly, insecure 7th grader, in 3 months flat.

This also happened to be the only September in my short career as a student that I wasn't signed up for a sport.
I spent most of my childhood fall months running around like a chicken with my head cut off on a soccer field, and even caved to peer pressure the autumn of 6th grade and signed up for football. If I was no good at soccer, you can only imagine what football did to my psyche.

My only grade school redemption: Gym Class and the 1 mile run.
I couldn't hit. I couldn't catch.
Tackle? Ha.
I could, however, put one foot in front of the other faster than almost anyone else in school.

So here I was, September of 1995, teetering on the precipice of anonymity. Perhaps even worse as a 12 or 13 year old- I had no clique. I needed....something. I just wasn't sure what that something might've been.

It was mid-week, at the end of the day. I departed my last class, and began the journey up the stairwell to my homeroom, from which we extracurricular-less students would be put on a bus and destined for home.

A middle-aged guy in glasses, shamrock-colored polyester pants, a white shirt, and matching green tie passed me. I had seen him once before, but couldn't remember where. All I knew was that he was the Wood Shop teacher and Cross Country/Track and Field coach: Bruce Bell.
I had never previously thought about running Cross Country, so I surprised myself when I stopped him on an impulse and asked if I could run this fall. He smiled, shook my hand, and told me to come to the meeting next week.

The meeting blew my mind.
I remember sitting in his Wood Shop classroom, him lecturing about running, practice, and interspersing life philosophy all at the same time. What really hit me: he was talking to us like adults. This was something none of my teachers had done yet.
As an early teen, all you hear is,"do this or else".
This "real talk" was captivating. You wanted to attract his attention just so you could feel like an adult in talking with him.

Bell did things that no teacher could get away with nowadays.
He swore. He flirted with women. He was famous for cracking jokes about how he pissed his wife off while doing some home improvements the night or weekend before- think Tim the Toolman. There was nothing creepy at all about it; his personality was extremely non-threatening, and everything came across in good fun.
He'd bring a duffel bag full of pills and athletic supplements to work with him every day, and on occasion, with a note from a parent, would give his young athletes zinc or vitamin c tabs.

Bell was an anomaly in the middle school teaching arena. The longer you knew him and his eccentricities, the more his legend seemed to grow.
There were rumors that he would run from his house in Augusta to school in Turner, then at the end of the day, run home.
He could do more pushups and core exercises than any of us, and sometimes egged us on jokingly as we were laying on the grass trying to keep up with him.

He'd make us drink "ultra fuel" before each race. I remember him pulling one of us aside every week, and giving us 5 bucks and telling us to go to the juice machine in the cafeteria, where we were instructed to buy as much of every type of juice as the 5 dollars would allow. No one really knew what exactly was in those 5 gallon Gatorade drums, but it was a crazy mixture of powders and a plethora of juices.

In the classes that he taught and even before every practice, he might skip the intended subject matter altogether and instead go on tangents about life lessons. While it may not have been to the school's liking, a lot of kids who may not have had guidance at home(or from the guidance counselor, for that matter), received it from him. I know of kids who stayed eligible for sports, and not just in cross country, because of his foot up their ass when their grades were in danger.
If a kid didn't have money for dinner on the way home from a race, he wouldn't even blink before handing over cash.

Bell would tell you exactly what he thought, and if that included swearing at you during a race or in school, so be it.
If you acted like a drama-kid, he would promptly tell you to cut the shit.

I had zero running form as a kid. If I had a dime for every time he yelled at me from across the field," GOD DAMN IT KALE, STOP HUNCHING OVER. RUN TALL!", I'd be counting stacks of money instead of writing this. I still run races and think of how I need to get my hips under me. Thanks, Bell.

Before every race from middle school to high school, he'd have all of us get on the school bus, where he'd play out the expected scenarios of each race. He would tell us what he wanted all of us to accomplish, making eye contact and singling each one of us out, laying out his expectations for every individual, and for everyone else to hear. We each had a goal, and we were all there to help each other with it.
We'd step off that bus every time in the minutes before the race, in a fury and ready to burn up the course.

If we failed and tried hard, there was never sympathy. If you were particularly hard on yourself, he would tell you to suck it up and that you'd get 'em next week.
If we failed because we didn't put in our best effort, the next week of practice was miserable, and he made it known why.
It set us straight.

In a world quickly blossoming to a place where no one was responsible for their own actions, Bell made every effort to mold us into upstanding citizens on and off the course. Nowadays, the number of educators and coaches like him is unfortunately few. New societal standards make it hard for a teacher or coach to step in and do or say the things he did. While we can't create people like Bruce, we can definitely be thankful for the ones that are.

thanks for reading.
krp

To The Point

It's been brought to my attention that this blog has been ignored for about 2 months.
That hasn't happened in a very, very long time.

I guess it's because I'm doing a lot less talking this year, and a lot more doing.
I cannot deny that something is different this year.
My body is tougher post-Quintuple.
It's as though I found a new pain reference, and it increased my tolerance exponentially.

My mind has also transformed, and not just in reference to pain tolerance. I've spent the better part of the last 5 years analyzing what path my life was taking. Now, I'm accepting and embracing that this IS my life. It's who I want to be, even if it doesn't exactly pay the bills yet. For now, I am just going to target the hardest races in the world, do them, and what happens, happens.

So yeah, been training hard, and trying to figure out ultimately just how far I can take this... and how I can make that financially happen.

I'm at a point right now where my body can take anything I give it. I've done more long bike rides pushing big wattage than I can count already, and my running is very solid.
Swimming I haven't focused on yet, but my upper body is developing just fine from my job lifting boxes up and down all day. I am not concerned about the swim.

Next weekend, I will do a Double Iron, alone. I'll have some family and friends there throughout the weekend, but will largely be solo for 4.8 miles of swimming, 224 miles of biking, and 52 miles of running. Come on out: I should be on Pleasant Pond Road from about noon on Saturday through Sunday Morning.
It'll be an appropriate test for things to come later this year, for sure.

Thanks for tuning in!
Kale

Clarity Day 2011

I've been blogging a lot less lately.

Maybe it's because I've been in this funk the last month or so.
It always comes this time of year for me. It's the time of year where it feels like winter has run its course, but is still very much here.
The pull of tights-less runs, warm sun, and longer days is very real.
So real, in fact, that waking up to snow falling from the sky and 15 degree nights bring about despair.

The good news is knowing the time change is coming, and that a month from now, warmer temperatures will be a reality.

Winter can be tough on my training regimen, but there is always a day that I can pinpoint every March that my training took a turn for the serious.
It usually is brought about by a workout where I know I've turned a corner on a physical and mental level simultaneously.

That day was yesterday.

Thankfully, because even though in the back of my head I know that day will come, I spend most of every february wondering when. Until that day comes, I am in a complete mental fog.

Soon, the crazy stuff will be the regular, and my mind will be crystal clear.
Training heavily gives me plenty of time to sort out the whats, whys, and hows of my life.
Bring on summer.

krp

bring it

i crouch at a squat

laughing
negatives on my back
pour it on
so i can use it

whatever is not said
i put words in their mouth
assuming
creating my own fuel

photosynthesize my own enemies
and harvest my own power

a famine never exists
even though i am
always hungry

bring it.