Starting at the beginning

Favorite line from Alice in Wonderland (the cartoon, of course): "Start at the beginning.  Yes, yes. And when you get to the end, ...stop!"  Wise words indeed from our friend The Mad Hatter.

Today I started something one might say. Today was day 1 of my AIDS bike ride from Boston to NYC over 3 days. I also like to call it, "how much chaffing is required before hitting a major vessel and bleeding out?"  Kinda like how many licks does it take to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop, only much nastier.

So here is what my watch looked like at 6AM this morning:

See that bottom left number?  The big fat zero. That is how far I've gone and I like that it says zero for a couple of reasons. First being I haven't done a damn thing yet and am still fresh as a daisy. Second reason is bit more interesting. It's filled with symbolism and metaphorical proclamations. We're about to get real deep up in here people. Brace yourselves.

I like what starting a journey feels like. I like the anticipation. The not knowing what the day will bring or how you are going to handle it. It feels like a pending test for your body and mind that will only be told in the moment in which it occurs. I like the not knowing. I like the challenge forthcoming.

I also like to peel the skin off of my back after a sunburn. Look at how much you're learning about me.

Something in me holds a great appreciation and respect for the unknown, and not just with athletics. Regardless of my best attempts at obsessively planning every second of my life, there are those inevitable unknown moments that you just can't plan for or see coming. Perhaps that's one piece of the reasoning of my love for endurance sports: life training. Because isn't life kinda like a race or a long ride?  You never know really what's going to happen. You could get a flat tire, get lost, catch a cramp in a muscle you didn't know existed despite your doctorate degree in physical therapy. You know, things like that.

Must I lay out how symbolic that is to what we go through daily?  Well...  I'm not gonna. But I will say this one last thing.

There is a tattoo on my left arm. If this is surprising news to you, you just will never make it as a forensic investigator. On that tattoo are a few written words, one of them being "acceptance."  Sometimes you have a crappy race. You have to accept that. Sometimes you have a crappy day. You get my point, right?

For whatever reason, aside from my clearly superior intellect and well matured soul, I love the feeling of a new beginning. A fresh start. It gives me the chance to do things better than I did the time before.

Good thing because I was slow as all hell today...

Deep thought tuesday 3: Giving Back

Let's be honest.  I am pretty much the luckiest bastard to walk the Earth.  Well... if we count Channing Tatum, I'm the second luckiest bastard.  I have a great life, a partner who is loving and supportive, a job at which I thrive, and I get to do Ironman races because I find them strangely enjoyable.  Really?  The next time I have a bad day, please remind me to read this.

The point of this blog post, and perhaps on a much larger scale, is the importance of giving back and helping others.  This weeks entries will all have to do with one big event in my life: BRAKING AIDS Ride, a bike ride from Boston to NYC over 3 days raising money for Housing Works.  If I tried really hard, I bet I could squeeze another hyperlink into this paragraph, no?  People who click hyperlinks go to heaven, I'm just sayin'.

If you don't know about Housing Works, here is the cliff notes version.  The organization started back in the 80's when the AIDS crisis was gaining steam.  Due to the misinformation, and lack of information, a great deal of stigma arose around those who where HIV+ often leading them to lose their jobs and eventually homes.  Housing Works was founded to help these folks find homes and get back on their feet.  Today, every person who is accepted into their program get a guaranteed position within their chain of retail stores.  Not many of us have ever experienced homelessness, with or without a positive diagnosis of HIV.  To find a place that gets you back on your feet, puts a safe roof over your head, and gives you a job?  I can't imagine the feeling of hope and salvation that must bring, and in so many ways, I hope I never am in a position to feel that for myself.

So for the 7th time, I will get on my bike and ride.  You have to raise money to do this ride of course, to the tune of at least $3500.  Why do I do this?  Why do I pester my friends year after year to donate money (yes! another one!)?  It is because it's what I know I can do to make a difference.  It's how I know to help.

So imagine my surprise this year when the ride producers asked me to be the designated speaker at the closing ceremonies (last one, I swear).  To say this is an honor would be to compare peanut butter to almond butter.  There is just no comparison or equivalent.

I have to admit that I don't know entirely what I plan to say.  All the more reason to show up to see me tank, right?  Normally the person they ask to do this is a freakin' hero.  A veritable rock star.  A story that not only inspires but also makes you desperate to do something to change the world.  What the hell am I compared to that?  If you think of something, please let me know!

I plan to say something along the lines of why I ride.  Why, for the seventh time, I am going to sit on a seat the size of a deck of cards for 3 straight days solid.  Why I work so hard to raise this money.  I'll say something along the lines of, "because it makes the world just a little bit better."

If you should find yourself in the NYC area, specifically the East Village, this Sunday afternoon, do something good for yourself and see this event.  It is heartwarming and gives you perspective like you can't imagine.  I also don't play for audiences smaller than 1000, so show up so we don't have an embarrassing diva moments.

Here's to helping those who need it and unexpectedly helping yourself along the way.

Look, it's me.  Down front and center, of course...

Weekly review 2: Back on track (mostly)

After somewhat of a stinker last week, imagine my delight to report that this week isn't a total flush-of-the-toilet report. The workouts resumed (kinda), the diet was adhered to (mostly), and the misery began again (consistently).

Monday: Scheduled day off. I am an expert at these days.

Tuesday: Scheduled weight training and 10K test. Spent an hour of my life lifting heavy things with my upper body. I always wonder why I do this as a triathlete. Do we really need upper body strength so much? Ok fine, it's convenient to have lats and shoulders when you're swimming, but swimming is dumb enough that I still consider it an optional warm up to the race. Oh well, shoulders and pecs make me sexy.
After that I sauntered on up to Central Park for my first 10K test of the new season. Testing instructions: run like a banshee for 6.2 miles and record how banshee-like you were. Later we will do the same damn thing to see what level of banshee-ness I have grown in to. Brilliant! It's early in the season but I managed to average a pace of 7:21 min/mile in the hilly Central Park loop. Not too shabby if I do say so myself.

Wednesday: Scheduled weight training and spin class. Ah, leg day. I don't know what happened to me genetically during my development, but something went wrong. Perhaps too many beatings as a child? One too many lumps of Play Dough were eaten? The possibilities go on longer than Angelina Jolie's femurs. Whatever the cause, I love leg day. Give me a lunge or a split squat and I'm just about as happy as a kid at Christmas. I like to think it is because I correlate how functional leg strength is to my sport. It might also be that I secretly wish to have more junk in the trunk. Because really, I don't think NYC is ready for this jelly.
I digress...
After that, I sat myself on a spin bike for an hour and half and really taught myself a lesson. You know what I realized during that spin class? I usually am a damned cheater during spin classes! The instructor tells me to turn up the resistance, and I swear I do. Clearly, not enough though. Today I decided to work on power. I wanted to smell smoke coming off of that bike. That was partly due to the ripe spinner next to me who clearly enjoys falafel for breakfast, but not only because of him. Needless to say, I worked it something fierce. Got off of the bike feeling a bit jelly-legged, which if you consider my early comment regarding jelly, I felt I had succeeded. Go me.

Thursday: Scheduled long run of 1 hour 40 min. Not gonna lie people, I wanted to skip this. I was sore from my leg and spin day the day before and most of me was just saying, "shouldn't you just do some steam room? That is good training too, you know. You're body needs to become accustomed to the heat. It's like altitude training, only hot, wet, and with hints of sweaty armpit smell." Fear not dear reader, I overcame the temptation and set out for my run. It was glorious. Why I ever have trouble motivating myself for a run is always a mystery to me after I have done said run. I love it. Ended up logging a little under 12 miles at an 8:22 average pace.

Friday: Scheduled ride to Alpine (a horrifically hilly ride about 40 miles round trip). Yeah... this didn't happen so much. Problem was, I was scheduled for a flight leaving at noon. The brain started working which is never a good scenario. "What if I have a mechanical problem out there and get stuck. Would I make it to the airport on time? How much will a cab be to LaGuardia if I'm late? How will my hair look after having a helmet on?" Things like that. I decided to sleep in and do a double workout on Saturday when I got back.

If you're reading carefully, there are two big problems with the above statement. Did you catch them? Problem 1: I was leaving on a flight on Friday at noon and was planning to do a workout when I got back home the next day. The biggest part of that problem is that I was taking a nice relaxing flight to ALASKA. More on that later. Problem 2: I don't care what happens in my life or who I become as a triathlete, I am just not the guy who will double up his workouts when one is missed. I don't know how many times I have to relearn that lesson, but apparently a few more it would seem.

Saturday: Scheduled 45 minute run plus what I slacked doing on Friday. Before we can talk about this, let me tell you about my flight. I left NYC at noon on Friday and found myself in thick-as-pea-soup Dallas 3.5 hours later. Quick layover and I was Alaska bound. 6 hours here. Long flight, but it should be worth it, right? Nope, I didn't even leave the airport. I'm clever enough to have only had a one hour layover and then get back on the same stupid plane I was just on to return to Dallas and eventually back to NYC. What is wrong with me that I would do something like that? How much time have you got?

This flight to Alaska was what we in the business call a mileage run. What business am I referring to you ask? I haven't the foggiest. What a mileage run does is rack up a bunch of airline miles from a cheaply priced ticket so that schmucks like me get to keep our airline priority status. That's right people. During a time period of 23 hours, I spend 20 of it in an airplane so I can cut in front of you when boarding the plane. You also get free upgrades to first class and I am sucker for cheap champagne and microwaved food.

NOW we can talk about my workouts on Saturday. They didn't happen. I hate to be this guy, but I just can't sleep on a plane. If humans were designed to sleep upright we would look more like pink flamingos. Or even cows. They sleep standing up right? Well I may not be at my race weight, but I am no cow, and while I do have particularly rosy cheeks, I also am no flamingo. I'd wager I got about 2 hours of violent head nodding before giving up the fight and passing the time by throwing wads of paper into the mouth of the old lady across the aisle while she was snoozing away. I got to New York and had just barely enough motor function and brain power to stumble onto the train home. Once home, what was intended to be a quick 30 minute disco nap became a 3 hours love-fest with my reasonably oriented horizontal couch.

Here I would like to claim my innocence and blame these two devious beacons of temptation and sloth. Who could resist a cuddle with pups like this?

Sunday: Scheduled 65 mile bike ride. While I did miss 2 days of workouts this week, I didn't feel terrible about them. But today I pretty much dropped the ball. Instead of waking up like I was supposed to, I slept in. And while that was delicious, it slapped my schedule around like a 3 Stooges routine. When you have to contend with grocery shopping, dissertation writing, laundry, cooking, and blog writing (that's right, I blame you for this), I just didn't have time. Fail.

Overall the week wasn't terrible, but it also wasn't Kona-prep level either. On the negative side I missed 3 quality workouts. On the plus side I nailed 3 fantastic workouts. I'm sure next week will be mind blowing and my Sunday weekly report will have you inspired and ready to take on the world. For this week however, you'll just have to settle for this picture of one of the more stunning terrains I have ever seen. It may be the home of half-witted politicians, but you can't argue with the spectacle nature has created that is Alaska.

I'd bet Buddha was fast

"When you realize how perfect everything is you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky"

Buddha said that.  They must have recorded it on an 8-track or something old fashioned, as he lived a very long time ago.  But this post is not about history, or audio recording technology for that matter, but about a state of mind that seems worth aiming for. 

For those of you reading this who are athletes, tell me if this sounds familiar.  You wake up at some un-godly hour.  It is dark outside.  Your significant other is snoring like the jerk they are and didn't even stir when your alarm went off.  Maybe you trip over the area rug under your bed because it is just too early for your feet to have a safe level of functionality to them.  Roughly 10 minutes are spent staring yourself down in the bathroom mirror trying to rationalize why you're awake so early.  Is the stupid race really worth punishing yourself like this?  What past life sins are you paying for now?

Maybe you're lucky enough to smack your baby toe on the door frame, resulting in an alarming crunching noise loud enough to make you consider calling 911.  Instead you opt to curse like a drunken sailor, but not too loudly.  The jerk over there is still snoring away and you'd hate to disturb them.

Breakfast, if we can call it that, is comprised of some strangely colored juice from the rainforests of Antarctica and is full of slimy lumps of chia seeds.  Your coach swears they will make you faster.  You still aren't convinced there are rainforests in Antarctica, but it is too early to care about that crap.

You choke the stuff down as you're lacing up your shoes.  You curse again after smooshing your foot into the shoe and getting angry all over again for hitting your baby toe earlier.  It is now roughly 3 times its normal size and red enough to make Santa look pale and sickly.

You're half way out the door when you realize this acute bout of dizziness you're feeling is because you put your contacts in backwards.  Well at least you don't have that aneurism you were pretty sure was there because of only getting 5 hours of sleep.  Silver linings, and all that rot.

Finally you are running.  You hate it.  The only thing you can do is keep checking your over-priced GPS watch to count down the miles.  At times you are 100% certain the stupid thing is not working.  There is no way you are moving that slowly.  This run might as well be happening in a black hole.  Nothing escapes.  Especially not your dignity.

Sound like any mornings you've had recently?  I've been there all too often.  The funny thing is, when I am convinced I am going to have a bad workout, I do.  Now I'm no prophet, but you don't have to be a stargazer to believe in self-fulfilled and self-imposed disasters.  You are what you think you are.

I ran yesterday.  12 miles of potential torture.  For most of the run, I was really in the zone.  Feeling good, keeping my pace up, looking sexier than most people out there.  But inevitably, there were times when my body wanted to stop.  My confident smirk was easily replaced with a furrowed brow and clenched jaw.  There is a simple truth to endurance sports: there are guaranteed moments of pure unadulterated misery.  It's just what we do.

During such moments however, I was reminded of that quote.  "When you realize how perfect everything is you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky."  Holy hell, my life is kinda perfect!  If my biggest problem is that I have to run 12 miles up and down the Westside park paralleling the Hudson river, I have it pretty damn good!

When I started to feel lousy, I would remember that quote.  A word of caution: you do have to be careful doing so though.  It is super duper hard to run in a straight line if you throw your head back and laugh at anything, sky or otherwise.

Once I stood back up after tripping over that annoying speed bump, I was right back to feeling perfect again.

Perhaps the next morning I wake up so early and am seriously considering smothering the snorer with some dirty laundry, I will repeat that quote.  Perhaps if I can be aware of how wonderful thing really are, my body will respond in kind.  Perhaps if I stop eating chia seeds, I will once again learn to like fruit juice?

Point is, it is easy to allow yourself to get so overwhelmed by negative crap.  Deadlines, arguments, weather, swollen baby toes.  But in the end, if you really take a moment to appraise the situation that is your existence, you too might find it irresistible to take a moment to laugh at the sky.

That's why I bet The Buddha was pretty fast.  He was a guy who just didn't get upset by the small stuff.  I bet when he ran, the only expression he had on his face was one of contentment and joy.  That, and I bet he stubbed his toe less than I do.  I don't think there were doors back then.

  

Deep thought tuesday: 2. You ain't never too old!

Hello world.  I'd like to introduce you to Patrick.  Isn't he a hunk o' burnin' love?

Allow me to tell you how we managed to connect, Patrick and I.  About 2 years ago, I was giving a presentation to a group of new bike riders who were prepping for an AIDS ride.  The ride is 285 miles from Boston to NYC over 3 days.  It is hilly and down right hard.  Hard enough to make me feel like I've lost my mind for signing up repeatedly.  If you're reading this, you too might have similarly lost your mind.  You should sign up.

In any case, good ole Patrick was at said presentation and was full of questions for me.  I mean chalk full!  We had ourselves a good chat, a few come-to-Jesus moments, and were fast friends.  A few days later I got a call from Patrick and here is how it went down...

At the time, he was a springy and fresh 65 years old.  He had some expected concerns for doing such a tough ride for the first time, but was interested in seeing me individually because he had learned, most likely the hard way, that he was unable to get his bottle out of the cage while riding without feeling certain doom impending.  Our friend Patrick had lived his whole life and never been introduced to his core or functional training.  What's a fella to do?

I'll tell you what we did.  I beat the snot out of him twice a week!  We worked everything from proprioception, functional stability, strength integration, and how to tell a good ghost story.  Here's a picture from about a year ago:

More hunk o' burnin' love-like, right?  This dude was getting stronger, leaner, and could scare the socks right off of you with his ghost stories.

Not only that, but he had achieved his original goal of being stable enough on a bike to get his bottle while riding and not face plant onto the pretty asphalt.  Progress!

Funny thing about original goals is you just seem to keep modifying and adding to them.  Once we mastered the water bottle, it was to get faster, leaner, safer.  Then one day, dear reader, Patrick started talking dirty to me.  He started using a magic word that gets me all hot under the collar every time.

Triathlon...

That's right!  Here he was, now 66 years young, and had signed up for his first indoor sprint distance tri.  I was like a weepy mother sending of her baby for the first day of school.  Well, at least I was weepy.

I am reminded when I look at Patrick how sexy you can be in your golden years, but also that it is down right absurd to hear people say they are too old to try new things.  I am amazed by what he has accomplished, and better yet, but what he continues to reach for.  If I had half of his determination, drive, and biceps, I'm sure I'd be a better man.

Here, check out our latest pic.  Ladies and gents, welcome to the gun show.

Rarely do I get the opportunity to work with such an amazing person, and even more rare yet do I get to learn so much about who I hope to be later in life.  I guess I'm still that proud weepy Momma!

Congrats Patrick!

Here is his story in his own words (and I didn't even have to bribe him to write it):

"Chad helped me train for my first long bike ride, a Boston to New York charity ride.  My goal was to be able to reach for my water bottle while riding;  not so simple a task for me then.   After the ride I realized that my  65^th birthday was approaching.  I want  my senior years to be as active as possible.  My birthday present to myself for my 65^th and 66^th birthdays was to continue training with Chad.  We initially focused on balance and coordination training.  Chad called it propioception—I call it fall prevention.  I then met my core, never knew I had one.  My goals expanded to triathlons.  I am now training for an Olympic distance event.   To be honest, I did not even dream that the improvements in my conditioning and appearance could be possible at my age."

BOOM!

At the ride, post-breakfast, pre-KILLING IT

Boom!

Nothing to do with triathlon training whatsoever, but I just crushed 1000 page views! That's right, 1086 clicks thus far and while that does nothing other than serve my ego a metaphorical plate of meatloaf and mash, I felt compelled to share. 

Thanks for clicking, posting, and reading!  I'll keep training, posting, and writing!

Weekly review 1: remembering the sacrifices

This was week number 1 of training for next year.  On monday morning I was full of fire, ready to take on the world, looking forward to that alarm going off!  So how did things end up today with me sitting at a computer all day and eating popcorn?  Oh boy...  This week was a good crash course refresher in what this takes.

As eluded to, Monday was the beginning of the next 2 years.  I was pumped.  Like 120 psi pumped.  Strangely though, my typical monday work schedule starts at 8am and ends at 8pm.  Translation: day off from training.  No problem.  I cleaned up my diet nice and spiffy like.  Felt pretty good.  Day 1 was a success.

Tuesday.  Let's talk about tuesday.  In typical, "follow-my-advice-because-I'm-not-using-it" fashion, I chose not to ramp up my training gradually, but rather hit it HARD right out of the gate.  Good thinking.  I lifted weights for an hour, flirting the majority of the time with throw-up burps and light headedness.  Enough?  Nope.  Then I ran for 40 minutes.

Tuesday night: the process of hating myself had fully initiated.

Wednesday I was sore which was no surprise, but actually not as bad as I was expecting.  I could lift a cup to my mouth without crying out for example, so clearly I had more to give.  Good remedy for that? Another weight lifting session of higher intensity than the day before, preceded by a maniacal spin class led by a rather angry and aggressive young woman punishing us for her troubled childhood.

I woke up Thursday morning because a light breeze from the open window sent pains through my body.  Soreness was not the right word for my musculoskeletal system.  Let's go with burning fires of hell.  That just sounds closer.

I was running late that morning because it took me 12 and a half minutes to walk from my bed to the bathroom.  I made up for lost time by choosing slip on shoes as I was unable to bend down to tie any of the laced options.  I hobbled my way in to the computer to look at my prescribed workout for the day.  Run.  1.5 hours at marathon pace.  I ruined my keyboard from the tears.  A new one was ordered later.

I sent a message to my coach saying along the lines of, "hate me if you will, but there is no way I can run today.  Walking is asking a bit much.  Can I do this long run on saturday instead of the short tempo run listed?"  He responded saying, "erase this phone number.  I do not accept calls/texts/solicitations from turds."  I took that as a "yes, that is a perfectly reasonable response for your current state.  Good smart training choice, Chad."

Ok, day off.  A gift to my body.  One unplanned day to recover, eat well, and be ready for Friday.  Well......  I did as planned on thursday but then friday started to get wonky.

Two things happened.
1.  I was performing in a cabaret on friday night for a charity ride I do from Boston to NYC (www.brakingaidsride.org).  I was scheduled to do a 40 mile ride for power training but I had concerns that waking up at 530am and beating my ass on some hills and getting exhausted would negatively impact my ability to sing.  As it turns out, it wouldn't have made things much worse, but that's for another blog.
2.  My mom, biggest and brightest Chad fan there is, was coming into town to see said cabaret.  Now I love my mom more than cherry cobbler, but anytime you get an out of town guest, your routine changes.

Suffice it to say, I talked myself out of the bike ride on friday.  A significant demerit for this week, but it still felt salvageable.  But don't worry dear reader, I can sabotage anything worth the efforts.

Post-cabaret the air had a celebratory feel to it.  Money was raised, two drink minimums were complied with, voices were sung hoarse.  What better to do than stay out till 2am and continue drinking?  I know!  Top it off with an order of disgusting french toast at a sticky-floored diner, and you have your answer.

I woke up saturday morning, tongue glued to my upper lip from dehydration and told myself I had to do that 1.5 hour run I had delayed.  I might as well have stapled my tongue to my lip where it was.  It would have sounded better.  How awful.  The guilt was mixing nicely with the dehydration and distended french toast belly.

And don't forget that Mom was in town.  "I know," I said to myself.  "I'll take Mom out for a day in NYC.  She NEEDS me to skip my run to do that for her, right?"  Decision was made.

Fade to sunday and I am so buried in paperwork, powerpoint presentations, blog entries, and kettle corn  that I just couldn't figure out how to fit in the bike ride I was schedule to do.  Another day missed; Monday deadlines looming.  Out of my hands, right?

What did this failure of a training week teach me?  I was reminded how incredibly dedicated those in our sport have to be to achieve greatness.  I did not achieve greatness this week.  I barely got by with mediocre-ness, and that is with the class curve.  I hate being mediocre.  Mediocre in my mind equals not worth wasting my time with.

Time management, dedication, consistency, focus.  Those ended up being the lessons I got out of this week.  An Iron Man is not made in a day I was reminded, and I didn't even need my coach to give me stank-face to remember.

And don't worry, I'm giving myself enough stank-face to make McKayla Maroney proud.

9/11. A heavy day

True that the topic of September 11 has little to do with triathlon training directly, but perhaps some thoughts are worth mentioning anyway?

I moved to NYC in September of 2002, almost a year after the attack.  I watched it live from the safety of my living room in Albuquerque, NM.  And yet, as I sit in my office (clearly procrastinating the work I need to do) I am surprised still by how raw this city is on this day.

Getting out of the train this morning, there were countless uniformed soldiers standing guard.  Not police, mind you, but soldiers.  They were packing some fairly impressive rifles that I'm sure have clever alpha-numeric names that raise some eyebrows at the nearest gun show (which is probably in Texas).

I'm also somewhat certain that these soldiers undergo the same training that the dudes who do the changing of the guards go through.  These are not cheery folk.  They look serious.  Science fiction serious.  I cautiously avert my eyes from making contact as I'm sure they will disable me without second thought.  Good to have these folks.  In their shoes, I would smile and nod at everyone wishing them the best day possible.  I would be relieved of my duties rather quickly, methinks.

Point is: today is heavy.  So many years later, you can still feel it in the air.  Most of us push on and treat it like any day, but I think it's safe to say that most NYers are a little on edge today.

Which leads me to a larger point.  The world is kinda freakin' crazy right now.  If you'd like to avoid sleeping tonight due to anxiety driven insomnia, just listen to what Diane Sawyer has to say on the news.  This is not a happy broadcast.  If you'd like to really freak yourself out, give BBC a try.  The Brits apparently don't need a happy feel-good story every now and then.  Their news, while more accurate, reads like a horror film.  Fox news is also terrifying, but in a rather different way entirely.

So why, you may ask, am I taking the opportunity to mention it on a triathlon themed blog?  I think it's because on a day like this I am reminded about how terrifically short life can be.  Life is a precious gift that should be experienced fully and deeply.  There are few experiences in my life that make me feel more alive, more awake, more connected, than completing a goal I had previously dreamed up.  That's what racing is to me: living, awakening, connecting.

These are just the thoughts of one guy who does crazy stuff to feel more alive but maybe, just maybe, if more of us could find how to reach this state of being, we wouldn't feel as obligated to cause harm?

...or maybe I should leave the philosophical questions to the great minds among us and just go for another bike ride.

Deep thought Tuesday: 1. A word on motivation

A lot of people struggle with staying motivated.  Let’s be honest, I struggle with staying motivated.  So the question is, how can you set goals for yourself related to your health that you can stick to and actually achieve?

Here’s a day in the life of Chad Woodard.  (brace yourselves, this will potentially be profound)  At any given time of year, I have a laundry list of ambitious goals I have set for myself.  Recently they included training for my 3rd IronMan taking place in August, and sticking to a 30 day challenge of perfect dietary compliance.  Here’s the problem with those goals: I would much rather sit on my floor with my dogs whilst eating a huge bowl of lucky charms and watch The Ellen Show.  I am lazy.  I love junk food.  It’s just who I am…

What’s a fellow to do, you ask?  Good question, I respond.

There are a lot of ways to stick to your goals, and each person has to find what makes them tick.  Perhaps your goal is to do your daily exercises that your genius physical therapist prescribed.  Chances are if you were told to do those exercises because they stand a chance to make your eyes change color, you are going to be skipping a few days.  If you’re doing them because your back hurts and you can’t hold your kid, they start sounding a little more important.

That’s the first trick.  Set goals as they relate to what is important for you.  Really important.  After you set them, give them a good hard look over.  Is your goal of fitting into that bathing suit by July important enough to put down the cupcake?  Really?  Perhaps so, but you’d better be sure before faced with that temptress Red Velvet.  She is relentless and will find you.

Sometimes the aforementioned idea works for me.  Sometimes I’m a lousy cheater and I don’t care how important things are to me.  So I always recommend a good back up plan: guilt.

Mother’s have been using this tool since the beginning of time, am I right?  The things we do because we know that ‘disappointed Mom’ face is the worst thing ever.  So why not use it to your advantage.

For example, when I first signed up for a marathon, I had no clue if I could actually do it.  I had never trained for a race and had some doubts about my ability to complete it.  How did I handle those doubts?  I told EVERYONE I was doing it!  That way I had a built in guilt system for compliance.  If I skipped a training run, someone would be asking me about my training soon.  I clearly can’t let them down, so I would do the stupid run…

With my diet, I have grouped together with a bunch of idiots on social media and we are competing to see who can be the best on their diet.  That’s right, if it’s a competition, you’d better believe I am going to WIN!  I know that about myself, so why not use it to get healthy?

There are more tricks to finding what motivates you, and frankly, if I write them all down, nobody will read that far.  I’d wager I’ve already lost a few readers a few indents ago.  The point is: find what is important to you.  Make it public knowledge.  Attach it to a goal that is imperative that you achieve.  Find a buddy and do it together.  Make it a contest if you must.

Whatever your tricks are, you’ll feel good about sticking with it.  You also wont mind people glancing your way in that new bathing suit.  Just sayin’…

Recovery week to end all recovery weeks

I came to Maui with one main objective: overeat like a champion and get fat. Wait, no. That isn't it, albeit what I managed to achieve. 

My objective rather was to have a recovery week, physically, mentally, spiritually...esoterically. My prescribed workouts from my coach read like this: "vacation week - do what you can."  Allow me to translate what he really said. "Dearest Chad. You are a lazy punk who will ignore any workouts I give you this week. Historically speaking, you ignore me so often anyway even when you aren't on vacation. I often fantasize about firing you as a client, but you pay on time so I put up with your crap. -love Brian. PS. You are almost assuredly going to eat too much and get fat."

I like a coach who understands me. I think it strengthens our relationship. 

Let's just summarize by saying I succeeded. I am recovered in every way a guy can be recovered. My body has healed, my thoughts have settled, my neck has ceased the trial of tetanus-like stiffness it dabbled with. To the delight of my future plastic surgeon, I also managed to bake in the sun enough to markedly wrinkle my face, not to mention, get fat. But I guess it's all facelifts and tummy tucks for every aging triathlete, right? Right? ...hello...is this thing on?

Something to look forward to I suppose. Until then, allow me to give you a glimpse of this delicious week. Read on. It will only make you dislike me more than you most likely already do. 

A triathlete must swim. It's how we start our race, our day, our life. I felt I should keep up my training at least in part. 

I intended to swim laps, really I did. Feel free to judge me. I'm used to it. 

You'll be surprised potentially to read that I did have a great bike ride! I logged a hair over 22 miles with a total vertical elevation change of over 6000 feet. Beat that! I've never had a ride with numbers so impressive. 

A small side note that warrants mention is that every foot of that vertical change was downhill. Whatever! I'm still taking credit and you can't take that from me. 

Here's the view from the top of Haleakala at sunrise. One of the most awe inspiring and magical moments I've experienced in all of my 33 years. I wish this picture did it a fraction of the justice it demands. 

From the peak of 10,000 feet, we were bussed down a ways and hopped on a beast of a bike! For a guy used to a carbon fiber tri bike, a mountain bike equipped with disk brakes and shocks feels akin to a waif-like bikini model driving a freakin Hummer. I felt invincible. Never mind skipping those bumps and cracks in the road, I aimed for them! I'm sure it bothered my fellow riders, but each time I successfully triumphed over said bumps or cracks, my maniacal villain-themed laughter would ring out boisterously all the way back to the top of the volcano. Occasionally I would wonder why said laughter is so high pitched and screechy, but this was no time for deep thoughts. I had speed bumps to destroy. 

Upon return to the shop, I thought it best to pose eloquently on my beast to commemorate such a blessed event. 

Apparently I also was channelling my inner gangsta'. Maybe it was the helmet?

But never mind all of that. If I know what's best for my career and this blog I'll delete it all before publishing. What I actually did do to train was, no big surprise, running. 

Sometimes I ran on the beach, other times on beachside walkways, and on one unfortunate occasion, a major highway. Nothing like speeding car traffic to inspire a sprint workout. 

As this picture indicates, I also balanced on one leg pretending to run, like an asshole, yelling "take the picture" while maintaining a winning smile. Should physiotherapy and triathlons not work for me, I might consider my luck with ventriloquy. Nothing wrong with having a plan B. 

How many hours did I train? How many miles did I cover? Did I do enough, too much, just right? Who cares. Perhaps this last picture sums up my week of recovery and the message I will fail to convey with words?

A powerful run...emotionally

Picture this guy: flattest feet this side of Kansas, ACL reconstruction 14 years ago resulting in a few biomechanical funnies, and considers running something you do to escape danger or cut in line at the grocery store.

This athlete described above is none other than my partner, Paul. He is supportive but is convinced I'm an idiot. I tend to agree with him on that, but am defiant just to keep things spicy.

So imagine my surprise after my last race when he drops this bomb on me: "I think I want to start running." My initial reaction was to pull out the full-Nelson learned from my Hulk Hogan years (last year) and ask him who he was and what he did with Paul. He didn't really like that. He's sensitive.

Fast forward to yesterday morning. Alarm went off at 5:30am (still in HI and the time change is HEAVILY on my side) and I'll be damned if he didn't lace up and come with me!

I had a plan!  I was going to teach him all about footfalls, cadence, breathing, proper snot rocket technique. You know, the basics. I'd been waiting for this day for over 9 years and I was going to make it EPIC!

Completely caught unawares, I lost track of my plan. After one quick tip on midfoot striking, I didn't want to teach him anything. I'm certain he didn't want to hear it either (see above regarding the 9 years bit). Instead, we just ran. No GPS, no goals, no time to beat. We just ran.

I was reminded that the only thing I love more than running is sharing it with someone. We spent some time, we did something healthy, he got his first runners high. Then we braided each others hair and told ghost stories.

In 30 short minutes his feet started gaining proprioception, quads loosened up, burned some calories, and started a journey. I didn't get any of that.

Biomechanically I'm not sure I changed a bit or will be any stronger on my next run. But strangely enough, I think it was my best run of the year. I was reminded of my passion for running. I was proud to share such a gift and proud to see it enacted and enjoyed. I was stronger as an athlete because I was proud to be an athlete.

I was reminded why I run, why I am a PT that treats runners and triathletes, what an active lifestyle can do. All in all, I think I got a great deal more out of that run than he did.

Just don't tell him that. I'll never hear the end of it.