Cleveland Born Triathlete

www.ajbaucco.com

2011-07-01T15:12:00.001-07:00

After this next week, I will no longer be posting here.

Check out the new blog / website @ ajbaucco.com

Hope everyone likes the change!!!!

~AJ

Two Simple Words

2011-06-12T13:37:00.000-07:00

This wasn't the triumphant return home that I was hoping for. Arm in a sling, swollen and scraped. With skin missing on both hands and road rash on my shoulders and back, my body is as battered as my ego. Vulnerability is the highest when a man has the most to lose. It’s hard not to laugh at my most recent setback. It’s almost like the Universe permitted momentary foresight into a life that I’ve been desperately been working towards, only to tear it from my fingers as quickly as I became accustom. Years ago, I found myself lying atop a dining room table in a small neighborhood on the west side of Cleveland. Wincing in pain, I allowed a girl with no experience, and a homemade gun, to tattoo the words “Sacrifice” and “Persevere” on my calves. Most would chalk that up to an adolescent mistake, but I eternalized that mistake and made those words the cornerstone of my mentality. Regardless of how my actions are perceived, I’ve always lived up to those two simple words.

This isn’t meant to be a lecture on overcoming obstacles. I’m not a motivational speaker, and I’m sure as hell not the best role model. This is about ideals that I hold deep in my heart. They are the reasons that I get up everyday, and they are what gets me through these darker days. These ideals perpetually rest in the back of my mind; simple in nature, but incredibly motivating. They are promises that I made to myself when I first began to run. Ideals most likely conjured up while running single track around the Shaker Lakes on one of those hot summer days four years ago. They were promises that were made when running was new, back when my mind was forthcoming and unabashed. Naïve but far from delusional, my outlook on progression and sport was uncomplicated and straightforward. I thought about the Greats and the World Champions. Comparing myself to them, the only differences I accepted were time and experience. Denying any other difference enabled my progression as an athlete. It’s what allowed the development of those ideals; to continually work towards the dream, to never accept anything but the best, to find my limits and ignore them, to create my own destiny, to take advice from others but always disregard the naysayers, to give my life in pursuit of that great accomplishment, to patiently wait for that moment and then never forget it, to live my life like I have nothing to lose, to pick myself up off the ground, no matter how many times I fall.

Those two simple words, “Sacrifice” and “Persevere” recapitulate those ideals. A life worth living isn’t always about instant gratification. In this sport, that type of gratification doesn’t exist. There won’t be any half court shots at the buzzer or walk off homeruns. When someone wins an Ironman, it isn’t just the 8 or 9 hour struggle. It’s a lifetime of work culminating in one long day. In this sport, if you want it bad enough, if it burns deep in your soul, you can have it, and no one else can ever take that from you.

Winning is fun

2011-05-17T11:08:00.000-07:00

Three years ago, I crossed the finish line at a small race in Baltimore. It was a month before the Ironman 70.3 World Championships, and it was the second race I had won that summer. I remember doing an interview with a local newspaper. The reporter asked me if I was trying to turn professional. In my naïve little mind, I was already so close. It would take me three years to figure out how wrong I was.

For three long years, I waited… training highs and unforeseen lows. Injuries came and went. Every time I felt like I was close, I was still so far away.

Yesterday was an average day. I’ve been waiting to win a big age-group event for a long time. Even though it’s happened, I am still very critical. I didn’t race to my potential yesterday, and I am well aware of that. I did my best with the challenges that were presented, but I didn’t have that extraordinary day. I made a few goals for the race yesterday, and I accomplished almost all of them. My main goal was accomplished: to win an overall age-group title, but I wanted to do it with my run. I feel as if I ran about 4 minutes off my potential yesterday and that makes this victory bitter sweet. Andy Potts, a super star of the sport, won the pro race yesterday. I am sure he didn’t have a perfect race. It is how he changes and evolves that will make him win again. I believe that it is important to be proud of this accomplishment, but never be completely satisfied. There is always room for improvement in this sport.

I felt as comfortable coming into this race as possible. I didn’t feel any pressure to perform because I truly believed that I was the fastest person in the race. In my mind, it was my race to lose. The swim was a bit hectic as usual. I was the 12^th wave to go off, so I had about 1000 age-groupers to swim through. I don’t mind people that race to complete a half Ironman. In fact, I think it is what makes this sport so special. I just wish these people would train hard enough to have the ability to actually swim freestyle for 1.2 miles. I had to maneuver through a sea of people doing breast stroke and elementary back stroke. Without doubt, it made the swim leg much slower. This race is notorious for having a long swim, so I wasn’t shocked to see 28:30 on my watch as I came out of Bay Lake.

The first 5 miles of the bike were some of the most dangerous racing I’ve ever experienced. People were going 15mph while weaving around the entire lane. Wet roads made for even sketchier riding. It was seemingly impossible to get around the cluster of age-groupers for the first 5 miles. I tried my best to get moving, but the first 5 miles felt more like soft pedaling around town. Once out on open roads, I was able to get moving. I received my first time check at mile 10. I knew that if I road 12 minutes for each 5 miles I would be at 25mph average for the race. My plan was to rid a bit slower than that. The more I tried to relax and slow down, the faster I rode. I felt like my heart rate was around 130 for most of ride. I am sure it was higher, but it felt really effortless. Around 50 miles in, I was afraid that I was going to ride under 2:10. I knew if I did, my coach was going to literally kill me. As it turns out, I was just riding under pace because of a nice tailwind. The headwind in the last 6 miles slowed me down and I ended up riding around 2:13. I felt like it was a very conservative ride, but I suppose this is debatable.

Once out on the run course, I quickly fell into a rhythm. I felt confident as my pace hovered around 5:55 – 6:05 for the first 2 miles. That quickly changed when the road ended, and we ran onto the cross country section, a 1.5 mile grass trail that had to be run three times total. That section proved to be very difficult. I grass was not groomed, the air was thick and sticky, and there was no shade. My first time through that section was hard enough. I tried not to think about running through it twice more. Once back on the road, my pace dropped back down. Unfortunately, it wasn’t anywhere near my goal pace. I was working as hard as possible but only seeing 6:10-6:15 pace on the pavement. As the weather got hotter, I got slower. The high humidity had everyone fighting for their run splits. After the second loop, at around mile 9, I knew I had a strong lead on the rest of my age group. I tried to fight any urge to “settle in” or slow down. I knew I was racing for the overall title, and winning my age group was just the first step. About 2 miles out from the finish, I knew it was time to dig deep. I didn’t want a repeat of those last 2 miles in New Orleans. My body was incredibly overheated and very near melt down, but my mind was already fantasizing about pouring ice cold water over my head at the finish. That thought was all I needed to really push for the finish.

I ended up crossing the line in just over 4:11. I was 13^th overall (including the pros) and won the overall age group title. Having a less than ideal race and still winning by over two minutes, makes me really believe that I am one of the better age groupers around. It also makes me believe that I am truly ready for the jump to professional racing. I know it’ll be a totally different race, but I feel like I need the challenge so I can keep improving. I haven’t even turned 25 yet, and I really feel like I am a LONG way away from my potential in the sport. Only time will tell…

As for now, I am headed back to Houston to train for two more weeks before I race the Capital of Texas Triathlon, an Olympic Distance. Two weeks ago, I set a goal to be top age grouper at both the Florida 70.3 and the Capital of Texas Triathlon. I am delighted to say that I am one step away from a clean sweep.

Winning is fun. I think I am going to do more of it.

Cheers.

Back on the Road

2011-05-11T16:49:00.000-07:00

The last few days have passed like weeks. The hot and humid duplex at Vacation Village in Clermont, a scarcely populated vacation rental community (read: trailer park for old people), 45 minutes outside of Orlando has become my new home for 8 days. Short course professional, Ethan Brown MD (also known by his twitter alias, EzeBreezy) has been kind enough to open up his training pad for yours truly during this taper week. Ironman Florida 70.3 is this Sunday, and I am looking to correct some of my major errors from New Orleans.

Sweating my ass off in the 90deg Duplex... trying to cool down with cold towels

After the race in New Orleans, I packed up my condo and immediately hit the road for Las Cruces, New Mexico. Even though we had already spent a couple weeks training here in January, this training camp was much different. The weather was warm and dry, the pool was 50 meters and college girls took over the tanning area. The orchards had bloomed and the riding was much more scenic. But most importantly, we worked our asses off for a few weeks with zero excuses. We nailed the sessions and left New Mexico much fitter than when we arrived.

With the squad girls before leaving Las Cruces

Last Wednesday, I made the 12 hour drive to Houston where I will be living for the majority of May. I’ve taken over the spare room at DJ Snyder’s house. I’ll get to do the majority of my training on the Ironman Texas course, and I will get the opportunity to watch DJ, along with Pedro “Krepster” Gomes, race IM TX on the 22^nd. Towards the end of the month, I’ll be heading over to Austin to race the Capital of Texas Triathlon on Memorial Day.

The idea of all this travel already has my head spinning, but it should work out well. I will get to have two major races in two weeks. And, I get to see many friends in the process. Once June rolls around, I’ll be settling down for 4 hard weeks of training in St. George, Utah with the rest of the squad.

I’m really looking forward to this Sunday in Orlando. I know that I am ready to put together a solid performance. I’ve done the work… now, it is time to execute.

The Big not so Easy

2011-04-20T20:12:00.000-07:00

The season has officially started…

I was lucky enough to fall asleep before taking off and actually wake up back on the ground. The last 48 hours have been a bit tiresome, and I am looking forward to some regularity. I’m landing in Tucson in a couple hours and I’ll have less than 10 hours before I need to be back at the airport. However, this time I’ll be dropping off Kulbis. It has been a long but amazing training winter in Tucson. I know he is sad to go back home, but a few weeks of steady training will bring his winter fitness to light, and he’ll be winning all the local races in no time. After a quick trip home to pack the rest of my belongings, I’ll make the 4 hour drive to Las Cruces. At this point, I can barely fill a car with what I own. Kulbis sold the rest of our knick-knacks over the weekend, so I’ll literally be leaving with my clothes, a couple bikes, or more pairs of shoes than I’d like to admit to owning. I’ll be settling in Las Cruces for a few weeks before I road trip to Houston where I’ll be reuniting with good friend, DJ Snyder. There, I’ll also be meeting up with Portuguese rockstar/triathlete, Pedro Gomes. It’ll be a great environment as long as Pedro doesn’t force me to eat Dairy Queen twice a day. I need to lean down a bit now that the racing has started, and I can’t be sandwiching a DQ run between Chipotle visits anymore. Once back in Cruces, I’ll have a chance to really pick apart my race in New Orleans. I definitely have mixed feelings about the race, and I can’t say that I am very satisfied.

As many people have heard, the swim leg was cancelled due to a little chop, and the race was turned into a bike-run. Even though swimming is not a great strength of mine, I’ve spent the last 4 months swimming 30km a week, and I believe I’ve pushed my 1.2 mile split (with a wetsuit) down to around 25min. Mildly annoyed that the swim was cancelled, I tried to re-center myself and think about the new race. Everyone had to deal with the same situation and it was up to me to adapt. Regardless, starting an hour later and the new time trial start made it difficult to truly warm up. Starting a bit “cold” had me working a bit too hard from the gun. I was overeager and too aggressive in the opening miles. I believe riding through the first 5 miles in 11 minutes illustrates this perfectly. Regardless, after the shock of the first few miles, I felt as if I settled in nicely. I rode hard the entire 56 miles, but I never felt as if I was out of my comfort zone. I just locked in and rode the miles. My biggest task was making sure that other age groupers didn’t get in my way and cause me to crash. Instead of getting mixed in with those people, I spent the whole bike leg riding near the center line. A nice tail wind on the way home put the exclamation point on a solid ride. However, it may have been a bit too “solid.” I rode 2:11:18, which is 25.6mph. My split was faster than some of the pros and about 90sec off the average pro bike split. I may have overexerted myself, but at the time, I felt like I was riding exactly where I needed to be. Onto the run course, I felt pretty strong as I came through the first mile in just under 6:00. Unfortunately, I quickly found myself settling for 6:15s. The first 6 miles were certainly the worst miles for me. I had a bad stomach ache, and it was starting to affect my ability to run anywhere faster than 6:30s. At the halfway point, I finally caved and took care of that issue. That mile was 7:45, so I figured that I lost about 60-75 sec in the bathroom. That is part of racing though. After my setback, I found myself back in a rhythm. After a 6:20 7^th mile, I was back down to just over 6:00 pace. At mile 9, I was passed by the one and only person to do so all day. It only took a few seconds to realize that he was the person I needed to be running with. I dropped the pace and started to come back to him. We ran the 9^th mile in 5:45 into a light, but noticeable headwind. In the moment, it felt like the right move, but it was too fast and had me absolutely popped. Looking back now, I probably should have continued building slowly and finish the last few miles around 6:00-6:15, but I took a chance. After a mini melt down, I ran a super slow 6:40 11^th and 6:45 12^th mile. I was never ever able to come back from that harder 9^th mile. I ended up running 1:25 half marathon (6:30 pace). I consider this very slow and need to make some changes in order for this to not happen again. Overall, I finished 6^th in the amateur race, and 29^th overall (including 35-40 pros). I was about 80 seconds out of 3^rd place and a little over 3 minutes out of 1^st. I am definitely not happy about this result, because I came to win. However, I have a few areas where I need to improve and I am eager to get back to the drawing board. Although I kept this mostly to myself during the last few months, I had an injury that kept me from running for 3 weeks. It took another 3 weeks to get back to a normal stride. With this setback, I know I still have a lot of fitness to gain in the next couple of months. Training Camp with the Triathlon Squad has already started in Las Cruces, and I am looking forward to joining them. I need a few solid weeks with Coach Paulo Sousa and the crew. Training solo in Tucson was starting getting old and I am more than excited to see my squad mates. It will definitely be a busy few weeks in Cruces. On a side note, New Orleans never ceases to shock me. I saw things on Bourbon St. that will haunt me for long time. It is amazing what people can get away with down there.

A Consistent Winner

2011-04-10T10:31:00.000-07:00

Winning... No, I'm not referring to Charlie Sheen or any of his nonsensical garbage. I'll let a quote from Bill Rodgers say it all.

To be a consistent winner means preparing not just one day, one month or even one year - but for a lifetime.

Most mornings around here are the same. Waiting for our coffee to brew, we sit and chat about the days work. Everyday has a set of challenges that have to be met. There aren’t any options here. There are no “maybe I’ll move that swim until tomorrow” moments. I have a job that doesn’t cater to sick days or vacations. Looking back through pages and pages of logs, I searched for an off day. Even though I’ve made it out of the snowy Midwest, this winter still brought its fair share of adversity. Page after page, I flipped… back until January 1^st. But that empty space in my training log ceased to exist. I’ve trained through sickness, injury, and infection… through rain, wind, and freezing temps… through mental breakdowns and logistical nightmares. And after it all, I’ve only realized that this isn’t anything but what is expected. This is what it means to “get work done.” It has been four months… talk to me in four years. There are no “congratulations” or “pats on the back.” I haven’t done anything but my job. Yesterday, I was an hour into my last long ride before the New Orleans 70.3. Temperatures were around 45deg and it was pouring rain. After losing feeling in my hands, we decided to stop at the Supermarket to pick up some latex gloves. While standing outside, I ran into a girl that I used to tutor with up in the Foothills. We exchanged some small talk and she started to notice the effects that the cold had on me. At this point, standing around in wet cycling gear had given me a bit of the shakes. Pausing for a second, I realized that she was finally going to say something about how crazy we were for training in this kind of weather. While opening her umbrella and stepping out into the cold, she said “Man, you look cold. Sucks you have to train in this weather. But that’s your job, right? You don’t really have a choice.” Alas. She understood it perfectly. It wasn’t crazy or brave or heroic to be riding in the freezing rain. It was our job.

I am exactly one week away from racing my first half of the season in New Orleans. I have one specific goal in mind and it has nothing to do with a time. It isn’t even specific to a placing. My goal… No. My job is to swim hard, ride hard, and then run the life out of myself. I’ll put it all on the line, and I’ll work just as hard for 1^st place or for 50^th place. My body doesn’t know what place it is racing for. It just knows that it needs to work. Otherwise, when I do start racing for the win, my body won’t know how to handle it.

Check out Ironman.com next Sunday, April 17^th to track my race.

Cheers.

Recovery Loop in Premanon, France

2011-03-09T06:21:00.000-08:00

This is a great video shot by Jacob Christiansen in Premanon, France (October 2010). This loop was known as "the recovery loop." It doesn't take long to realize that we were training in a cyclists paradise. Enjoy guys!

Tucson Training Camp

2011-03-07T18:02:00.000-08:00

For those of you people looking for me in the video...

I am the idiot attacking on the bike, doing a cannon ball in the pool, and swimming a horrible version of fly towards the end.

ENJOY!!!

A Day Off?!?

2011-03-07T13:23:00.000-08:00

I don’t want to lie. Even though we have the entire afternoon off from training, there is never really a full day off. It is already early March and I have taken 0 days off from training. It is also important to point out that today is the FIRST time during a training camp that we have done just one workout in a day.

We started our “day off” with a short 5500 yard swim including 3 x (5 x 100 on 1:25 descending 1-5) and finished the workout with 2 x Chorizo Burritos from The B-Line and 3 x Cups of Coffee; a perfect way to finish any set.

2011 has already been the year of BIG changes. The biggest change has been leaving the guidance of Northeast Ohio legend, Jim LaMastra. It was a difficult choice to make, but Jim and I both thought that it was time I moved on and pursued other opportunities. During the transition between triathlon seasons, I started training under the guidance of world class triathlon coach, Paulo Sousa. Paulo has created the first ever elite training squad in North America. There are plenty of other triathlon teams, but we are the first team to spend the majority of the year living and training with each other and our coach. The basic change in training from 2010 to 2011 is volume. Previously, I was under the impression that two workouts a day was the standard. This year, I’ve quickly learned that 3 workouts a day (roughly 20 workouts a week) is, in fact, the standard. So what type of training volume does that entail? We swim 30,000 – 32,000 yards (17 – 18 miles), cycle 300 miles, and run 50-60 miles. This sounds like a lot of training, and I am going to ensure you, it is. So what am I going to do with this blessed day off?!?

Sit on the couch, update my blog… and eat.

For anyone who is interested on keeping tabs on me, my schedule is as follows. And please, only stalk me if you are an attractive female… or a potential sponsor than wants to give me money ;)

Present time – April 9^th in Tucson, Arizona (Training Camp #2)

April 9^th – April 15^th in Las Cruces, New Mexico (Training Camp #3)

April 15^th – April 18^th in New Orleans, Louisiana (Ochsner Ironman 70.3 New Orleans)

April 19^th – May 8^th in Las Cruces, New Mexico (Training Camp #3)

May 9^th – June 5^th in Houston, Texas (Racing TBA)

June 6^th – July 3^rd in St. George, Utah (Training Camp #4)

July 4^th – July 8^th in Cleveland, Ohio (To Celebrate America!!!)

July 9^th – July 12^th in Providence, Rhode Island (Amica Ironman 70.3 Rhode Island)

July 13^th – August 7^th in Cleveland, Ohio (Racing TBA)

August 8^th – September 4^th in Mammoth Lakes, California or TBA (Training Camp #5)

***This is all subject to change at any second***

Here are some pictures from the last few weeks of training in Tucson, Arizona. Enjoy!!!

Cruising out on McCain Loop with Yoder.

Out for 2 hours after a solid swim session. Heading towards Gates Pass.

Bike Skills and Transition Clinic with the Squad. We only got yelled at twice by Mall security.

Training at Hillenbrand Aquatic Center in Tucson, AZ

Excited to get in and start some quality training

What would we do without Krepster's (aka Pedro Gomes) underwarer camera

I assure you, we trained hard before this. I think we did 7 x 400 as the main set.

Ummmmm... Me being freaking awesome before a swim workout.

Jersey Shore has T-Shirt Time. We have Hot Tub Time. This is some of the crew after a swim.

Our view of the man in black... Johnny Cash. Er, I mean Paulo Sousa. He's like Cash minus all the style and musical ability.

Me pulling a few people down Kinney Road on the other side of Gates Pass.

I.T.W.N.P

2011-01-30T10:45:00.000-08:00

The optimistic yet straightforward tone in the room was convincing. We all stirred in our chairs easily portraying the sixty hour training block that now lived deep within our muscles. Our brain, world class triathlon coach, Paulo Sousa, stood towards the front of the New Mexico classroom. We reflected on the two weeks of training that was in the midst of completion. Gracious “pats on the back” were forfeited for a hard-nosed lecture on accountability. Races wouldn’t be won and careers wouldn’t be made on a successful two week training block. Regardless of effort, these two weeks were trite; far from extraordinary. Success comes neither from days, nor weeks, nor months… but years of dedication. Listening intently, we all understood that notion. Just as quickly as we accepted this concept, the tone shifted. In true Klep fashion, Pedro Gomes, an accomplished Portuguese triathlete, strolled to the front of the classroom and took over the meeting. Intrigued and sitting at the edge of our seats, we watched as Klep asked for chalk and started writing the acronym, I.T.W.N.P. Fittingly, acronyms are commonplace within The Triathlon Squad. Phrases like G.T.W.D. (Get The Work Done) and D.Y.J. (Do Your Job) and have seen the surface of the workout white board many times. Today, we sat in anticipation as Klep turned and faced the room.

In broken English, he proclaimed, “I tink. We need… PAINTBALL!” The tone of the meeting was immediately changed as the room broke into laughter. Klep, notorious for lightening the mood of any training session, spun off into a story about his hesitance to leave his Portuguese training center in search of another elite training squad. Although the speech was slightly mushy, we all shared in his general feeling of total approval. His newly crowned acronym may have been a joke, but it pointed towards the idea of building an even stronger unity between the squad members. At that point, it was easy to see that although the training squad was filled with a hodgepodge of individuals, we all meshed in our quest for excellence.

The City of the Crosses

2011-01-23T08:36:00.000-08:00

It’s already been eight days since my arrival in Las Cruces, New Mexico. This is the first of many training camps for coach Paulo Sousa’s Training Squad. It may be early in the season, but like many athletes, we have started getting into shape early. Without going into too much detail, here is a glimpse into our first week of training.

Swim – We are lucky enough to get some pool time (I mean A LOT of pool time) at the New Mexico State University pool. I believe we totaled around 31,000 – 32,000 yards this first week. That is roughly 18 miles in the water. Most of the workouts have been between 5k and 6k with one longer swim set over 6k. Some of the most notable sets, for me at least, were 12 x 200 hard, 30 x 100 (every 3^rd hard) on 1:25, and 8 x 100 best average.

Bike – Since IM Cozumel, my bike mileage has been pretty low. This has been the first week back to some longer intervals and longer days in the saddle. This first week has brought just under 15 hours of ride time. Besides the more traditional 3-4 “long” rides, we have been doing a fair amount of threshold and V02 max intervals. Some of the key workouts this week have been 4 x 10min @ threshold, 5 x 4min uphill @ V02 Max. Last season during my peak training, my threshold was just over 300w, allowing me to push 4.3 watts per kilogram. Right now, I am pushing around 280w at a slightly lower weight, allowing me to push about 4.1 watts per kilogram. Although this number is slightly lower, it is very acceptable my first week back to solid bike training.

Run – This has been my priority ever since breaking my heel back in April of 2010. After 2 years of disappointing run training, I am very eager to make this discipline my strength again. My running this season has been VERY steady and I am starting to feel fit again. I have officially run 42 times in 42 days. Since arriving in New Mexico eight days ago, we have run around 70 miles with 99% percent of running on soft dirt trails. The key to our run training this week has been a few 90min progression runs where the last 5 to 6 miles are done slightly faster than marathon pace. For this time of year, that pace has been between 5:50 – 6:10 per mile. Another good session this week was 20 x 30sec hill repeats. 30 seconds doesn’t seem long but the last 5 repeats left us all pretty broken.

Overall, this first 30 hour training week has been very challenging but will eventually be rewarding. The whole crew has worked together very well, and I can honestly say that everyone here is working incredibly hard. I can’t wait to see some of the results that this squad will produce by the end of the year.

For those who aren’t familiar with the training squad check out http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Triathlon-Squad/183206021698840

Here is a list of athletes -

AJ Baucco, 24, Tucson AZ
Amanda Felder, 28, Cupertino CA
Andrew Yoder, 21, Lancaster PA
Chris Coble, 28, Fremont CA
Greg Billington, 21, Winston Salem NC
Heather Wurtele, 31, Kelowna BC
Ian Mikelson, 30, Torrance CA
Janelle Morrison, 33, Penticton BC
Jennifer Spieldenner, 24, Findlay Ohio
Kate Ross, 20, Doylestown PA
Pedro Gomes, 28, Lisbon Portugal
Kelsey Withrow, 28, Park City UT
Trevor Wurtele, 31, Kelowna BC

The Power of Music

2011-01-10T08:57:00.000-08:00

My glare could burn a hole through the wall. My eyes were fixed intently on the three inch dent in the wall. My legs turned over in a fluid yet effortless motion while the sweat began to glisten off my bare back. An abrupt loss of concentration forced my eyes deep into the blank television set sitting across the dimly lit basement. The dark shadow of a man running played across the vacant television. It seemed as if I was watching my own life unfold, however; I couldn’t seem to fight the feeling that I had seen this program before. As the music faded in, a penetrating shot of adrenaline made my fingers tingle. I closed my eyes for a moment and allowed the music to take me back through time.

With the moonlight guiding every movement, pure exhilaration carried me through the empty streets. Every motion was without effort and I had worked damn hard to make it that way. Trying to remove my mind from any thought about the task ahead, I took refuge in the music that seemed to penetrate deep into my mind. With a false feeling of immortality, I increased my cadence. An attempt to allow my body to feel fatigue was a seemingly impossible task that morning. I moved with the music; a harmonious movement that couldn’t be broken until the sound died away.

In total agreement, my consciousness faded in as the track faded away. The work gradually became a little more labored, and I quickly forgot about my mind’s momentary sanctuary. The clock clicked away as the miles absorbed into my already hardened legs. Again, I waited patiently for my mind to escape. The miles pass faster when the mind works absently. I silently prayed for the next track to take me away.

Tell Me What You Know About Dreaming

2010-12-20T16:41:00.000-08:00

Another sun sets over the Tucson Mountain Park. The cloudless Arizona sky almost instantly turns to a deep ruby red. Like most evenings, my mind begins to wander.

Although every moment in my passing life is new and fresh, I am overcome with a strange sense of familiarity. For some, racing over 140 miles is it, the end-all, be-all, the pinnacle of their existence. I wish I could relate. Memories of the day have faded quicker than the deep ache in my battered body. The howling wind has calmed and that intoxicating sun has set. When a person goes through a traumatic experience, those most upsetting moments are the first to be forgotten. I remember the pain. I remember telling myself that after today, it was alright if I never ran again. But those memories have lost clarity. They’ve been pushed deep into the part of my brain that allows me to forget. It’s that most crucial facet of my character that allows me to dream tonight.

My dreams are consistent, yet strong willed. Looking back upon that day in Cozumel, some may express admiration; others, dissatisfaction. Regardless, that day happened like any other. It was and still is merely an extension of that dream. A day that can never be replaced, will never be forgotten, but is completed incapable of satisfying that dream. Going fast in Cozumel was never my dream. Finishing time is irrelevant. My dream burns as deep as it ever has. Like every year, time has shaped and changed my life’s aspirations. But the beauty of a dream is its ability to change overtime while remaining true to its original form. As long as I keep chasing, the ending to my story will always be right.

Another Summer Adventure in the South of France

2010-12-13T08:57:00.000-08:00

The tips of my fingers turned to a ghostly white. The voice in my head was convinced that my death grip was my only saving grace. My shoulders started to fatigue, but I clenched even tighter. I asked myself, “Was this going to be another one of those bad decisions?” My body language portrayed my distrust. I was told to relax, but I couldn’t. Why was I so afraid? A day ago, I had bombed down this exact mountain, dodging each pot hole and crack with my skinny bicycle tires. Maybe it was the inevitable darkness of a mountain town at night? Maybe it was that my life was in someone else’s hands? Regardless, I hung onto the back of the motorbike as we ripped down the mountain…

The sun seemed to rise early that morning. I rolled out of bed with the weird sensation that I had wasted the whole day sleeping. It was only 10:00am… The coastal wind near the Spanish border was fierce today. The road sign read 40km to Collioure. The chosen route was incredibly hilly, but the views of the Mediterranean were absolutely breath taking. Knowing that I only had to ride an extra 20km to Matt’s house in the mountains, I decided that I would turn today’s short ride into a seemingly innocent game called King of the Mountain. The road steeply climbed out of each coastal town. My heart was working overtime as I eagerly pushed my 60 pound machine up the road. The wind was strong enough to push me to a dead stop on some of the steeper pitches. I craved the reprieve of each descent. After climbing and descending through half a dozen Mediterranean towns, I unenthusiastically began the steady climb into the Pyrenees.

Six days had passed since I found myself glaring over all of Perpignan and the seemingly infinite Mediterranean Sea. Matt, my previous host in Perpignan, was kind enough to offer me a place to crash for another night. This time around, it didn’t feel like I was couch surfing. Matt and I got along pretty well, and I felt like I was visiting an old friend. That afternoon, I finally found a host in Beziers, a very small town between Perpignan and Montpellier. My original plan was to pass through Beziers; however, I was told that Saturday night was La Feria, their biggest street party of the year. Knowing that I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to experience La Feria, I made plans to leave Perpignan the next afternoon and make the 95 mile trip to Beziers.

It was Friday night in Perpignan and Matt didn’t want to spend it hanging around in the Pyrenees. We decided to make the trip into Argeles, a small beach town 20km down the mountain. Our main objective was fraternizing with the local gals. Matt suggested that we hop on his 100cc scooter. Knowing nothing about motorized bikes, I figured it was a fine idea. I didn’t regret this decision until he hit the throttle and we started flying down the mountain.

Having never been on a scooter, I was completely unable to relax and trust Matt. I was so shit scared that I thought I was going to crap my pants. Every time he hit the throttle, I felt as if I was going to tumble off the back of the bike. My nerves sent my heart rate flying as we came off the mountain and onto the 10km flat section between Sorede and Argeles. He punched it as we ripped through the dark, narrow roads. I held onto to back of the bike like I was fighting for my life. The headlight seemed to produce as many lumens as my trail running head lamp. It was almost like the moon was guiding us through the countryside. I continued to pray that this decision was not my last.

After surviving the commute to Argeles, I seriously considered an alternative way back. Matt laughed. “You just need to relax, loosen your grip, and trust the bike. Shit, I’ll let you drive it home if you want.” I thought about it, but quickly dismissed it as a bad idea. Matt continued, “Listen, we’ll get a few drinks, loosen you up a bit, and then we’ll cruise home.” Now I laughed. “Yeah Matt, that sounds like a great idea.” He sensed my sarcasm.

Sarcasm or not, drinking a little gin was indeed a pretty good idea. Deep down, I knew I was acting a little reckless. But for some reason, I allowed myself to get back on the scooter. **Sorry Mom, maybe you shouldn’t be reading this post** With an artificially created sense of trust, I relaxed my grip as Matt hit the throttle…

To my surprise, I didn’t go flying off the back of the bike. As each kilometer passed, I became increasingly more comfortable. This time around, that long and fast straightaway between Argeles and Sorede was absolutely magnificent. My fear of the dark had diminished as I basked in the beauty of the moonlit mountain side. Our return home was unlike anything I had ever experienced. A profound feeling a freedom came over me as we tore back into the mountains.

Figuring that the 95 mile trip to Beziers couldn’t take more than 6 hours, I slept through the morning. When you are traveling by bike, you really never know when you will come across a nice place to stay. I was thankful for a bed, my own bathroom, and a seriously bad ass infinity pool that overlooked Perpignan from up in the Pyrenees. Matt’s place wasn’t just a nice place to crash, it was more like as oasis in the desert. Convinced that a late morning trail run was in order, Matt and I cruised onto the mountain trail. He had been telling me stories about this waterfall deep in the mountain. Known for its rock cliffs, this secret spot was a natural 12 meter platform for local dare devils. Not completely sure if I wanted to test my luck on the natural diving tower, we headed into the thick forest. The trail disappeared after a mile. Creating our own path, our running slowed into a hike. We dlimbed over boulders, jumped over creeks, and pushed our way through thick brush. Matt barely remembered the route. The whole way he joked about the time he got lost back here and didn’t make it out until night fall. I didn’t find it too funny.

I could hear the waterfall in the distance… we were close. The tiny rock pool was barely large enough to consider jumping into. I couldn’t believe that people heaved themselves into it from the top of the 36 foot waterfall. Matt showed me a smaller, alternative rock platform, and I started to consider my jump. In order to climb to the side of the waterfall, I’d have to wade through the rock pool first. I started to slide off my shoes. As I was about to slip into the dark waters, Matt urged me to quickly swim to the other side. Red flag… “Why the hell would I need to hurry to the other side?” Matt pointed into the muddy waters. Moving closer, I peered deep into the rock pool. “Is that what I think it is?!?” Looking closely, it was hard to miss the giant mass sliding through the water. A shiver ran through my spine. Snakes… my kryptonite…

Feeling a little let down, we hiked our way back towards civilization. Even though I was feeling pretty adventurous, I wasn’t about to mess with a murky pool filled with snakes. Not to mention the 6 meter jump into such a pool. Thinking back, I pretty sure I made the right decision. With the time already nearing noon, my serious commute to Beziers was looming ahead of me. My young and enthusiastic host, Lucile, wasn’t expecting me until 8:00pm. Before I made the trip, I was told to be ready and willing to party all night. Praying for a tailwind, I started my descent down the mountain. An all night street party was my reward for a long day it the saddle. As the sun bore down, I pedaled my heavy touring machine towards the sea. The miles were flying by…

With a slight change of direction, I was stopped dead in my tracks. The headwind almost pushed me backwards. Cruising at an average speed of 8mph, I started to realize that this would be the longest day of my life…

As The Elevator Door Opens...

2010-11-14T11:29:00.000-08:00

The frigid mountain air hits you hard enough to make your hair stand. The gloomy feeling of dawn has yet to give way to a cool fall morning. Within a few seconds of landing on the first floor, you can hear a roar of laughter coming from the cafeteria. Its a few minutes past 7:00am, but almost everyone has shaken off the domineering effects of a shitty nights sleep. The world they live in is foreign; absent of any of the comforts they once knew. Everything is the same, except still so different. A strange bellow radiates from the next room. You ask yourself “What could be so amusing to these guys this early in the morning?”

Penetrating the dimly lit hallway is the inviting glow of the cafeteria; although, the frigid breeze radiating from a slightly cracked window is enough to make you wish you were back in the warm comforts of your bed. A zombie-like figure, with his head sinking low, brushes past you en route to a caffeinated oasis. It’s just another tolerable addiction in the life of acceptable addicts.

Each person in that crowded cafeteria is largely dissimilar; however, existing in each person is this innate ability to confide in their athletic counterparts. The room is overflowing with newborn friendships, disproving any notion that men of diverse cultures are inherently different. When everyone’s native language is sport, it is hard to be lost in translations.

There is something organic that pulls together this endurance crowd. In each of these men exists some sort of raw determination that forces them into discomfort every single day for a lifetime. Without any hesitations, they have accepted their destiny. Their mutual acceptance of a life of distress has brought them together on this rather usual morning. Like any morning, this peculiar group of young men basks in the absence of any real stress; for the rest of the day would be much different and they all know that.

Weekly Coffee Ride / Beer Run to Les Rousses, France

An Incredible Group of Athletes in Premanon, France

Logan and I before heading to a World Cup CycloCross Race

Danish Super Star, Jacob Christiansen, and I during our last night

4 hours into ride... Andrew Lees and I ripping down into St. Claude, France. The "tour" climb awaits.

Eight of the best damn mustaches I've ever seen

Getting ready to ride with Ian Terry and Adam Aisen

Paul was arguably one of the most badass guys in the entire country

Nothing Like Rocky IV

2010-10-05T04:56:00.000-07:00

The story of my trip has barely been told, but I needed this time to take an intermission. Even though I have every intention of telling this story, the urge to write has disappeared. I found myself lost in the middle of the most serious training block of my life. For weeks, my brains sole purpose was to provide motivation for difficult training days. When those days ended, it seemed to turn itself off.

Four days ago, I caught a stomach virus that was making its way through the training facility in Premanon, France. After three long days in bed, I am finally considering returning to light training. This sickness brought my first break from training in over five weeks. Maybe catching this bug was even a blessing in disguise.

Anyways… before I get back to the story, here’s a glimpse into my life in Premanon, France.

Life seemed to stand still while traveling through the South of France. I was excited for a change of pace. I was excited to really start getting fit, and mostly, I was excited to have my own bed. After a very confusing and interesting final night on the road (I’ll get to that another day), I finally made it back to where I started… the Geneva Airport. It was hard to fight the excitement. I was about to be picked up and whisked into the mountains to find my new home in Premanon. As we headed away from civilization, it became pretty apparent that we were going to be living in a state of seclusion. At the time, this excited me. For an athlete, there has always been something mysterious about training in pure isolation. Like when Rocky seeks seclusion in the Russian wilderness to train for his big fight with Ivan Drago. Anyone who has seen that training montage has had fantasies about leaving society to train, only to return faster, stronger and much tougher. These two months would be my personal Rocky IV training montage.

After five weeks in the Jura Mountains, I’ve learned more than I have ever needed to know about training seclusion. Rocky seemed to make it work just fine, but let me fill you in on a few key aspects of training isolation that Rocky IV doesn’t teach you. For one, I haven’t been lucky enough to have Adrian swing by for a conjugal visit. It’s no surprise that Rocky’s training improved after his lady showed up at his cabin. An athlete, dealing solely with absolutes, longs for the soft contour of a woman. “Chasing it” may be a pastime too dangerous for a lonely endurance athlete, but at least it gives the mind a break from the daily toils of vigorous training. The hardest part of training off the grid is the allocation of free time. What the hell did Rocky do when he wasn’t lifting logs, chopping down trees, wading through icy rivers, trudging through mounds of snow, or summiting mountains with his bare hands? Did he sit around the fire and play Yahtzee with Paulie? Did he read books, watch adult movies, or do crossword puzzles? No! Of course he didn’t. That SOB trained from dawn till dusk. From what I gathered, recovery is not an aspect of Rocky’s training plan. Unfortunately, some of us don’t posses the ability to recover while doing pull ups above a raging fire. In real life, there are easy days, off days, sick days; days where you body won’t let you keep pushing. So what do you do then? Off time in the Jura Mountains has been the most difficult. Keeping yourself busy is easier said than done. For some reason, when life is as simple as it can possibly be, you lose every motivation to be productive. We spend 16 hours a day in a small door room set at 9000ft above sea level. After 4 straight weeks of this, your days become a little dull. Days blend together in a miasma of solitude. Nothing changes here. I assume that prison is similar, except more dudes, no wine with dinner, and the alleged occurrence of unsolicited fornication.

With each passing day, I find myself faster, stronger, and tougher. But it has had mental consequences. Like the other guys here, I’ve had my fair share of rough days. The movies don’t show you what you don’t want to see. Rocky IV must have cut the scene where Rocky freaks out and starts throwing flaming logs at Paulie because he is sick and tired of eating the same shitty ham sandwich for lunch everyday. The world doesn’t want to see that kind of action. But that is reality. No matter how tough the person, eventually something will crack them. Around here, the absence of life’s little comforts is enough to make a few guys falter. Training here in the mountains may seem great, but it takes a specific type of person to succeed. If we stay sane, we’ll all come out of this ordeal faster, stronger, and tougher. But it will never be like it was in the movies.

My Dream Evening

2010-09-16T23:50:00.000-07:00

Leaving Barcelona was bitter sweet. Although it was one of the most interesting places I’ve visited, I was excited to get up the coast. Riding into Barcelona was one of the toughest bike rides I had ever been on. I was praying that leaving would be the opposite.

The strong coastal wind that was pounding me from the front (that’s what she said) was now hurling me up the coast at an average speed of 23 mile per hour. As the miles clicked away, I wondered how far I could make it today. My original plan was to finish the 80 mile trip to Girona. However, much before four hours had passed, I was already outside of the city limits. It was a rather hot Thursday afternoon and I started to fantasize about drinking beer on the beach of some amazing seaside town. Riding all day through the dull Spanish countryside deserved some type of reward. Beer and the beach was my destiny. Remembering all of the small beach towns I passed near the French border, I hammered along the flat highway with a dream.

Chasing me from the southwest were some nasty looking storm clouds. I hadn’t seen rain in a week so I quickly dismissed the idea of getting caught in a storm. My dream evening was far too perfect and I wouldn’t be happy settling down anywhere else. The sound of the waves crashing onto the beach, the feeling of sand on my battered feet, the taste of cold beer flowing into my slightly dehydrated body… It all sounded too perfect to pass on. Storm or not, I was going to make it.

My Garmin had just clicked past 90 miles when the clouds settled in above me. The winds started to howl and the temperatures immediately dropped 10 degrees. I knew I was getting close to the coast, but continuing on was a serious gamble. In the outskirts of Figures, I headed into a small town in search of some directions. The sun was still barely peaking through the black sky. I found a small, seemingly cozy hotel that would have been perfect for one night. It had one hitch… it was 19 miles from the coast. I forged on into the dark afternoon.

Feeling an imaginary parachute attached to my back, I dragged myself through the brutal headwind. I was only 7 miles away from Llanca, a small Spanish beach town, when the storms hit. At this point, I didn’t even know if I would be able to find shelter in Llanca. But, it was the first town near the sea, and my dream evening was much too important to me after 101 miles of riding under the scorching Spanish sun.

Llanca was indeed a beautiful and small coastal village. My dreams would have been a reality… if the rain would have ever stopped. After carrying 40lbs of gear 108 miles in less than 6 hours, I was greeted by a rain drenched beach. Luckily, I found a nice, inexpensive hotel across from the beach. After a shower, I headed across the street to a small bar for that cold beer “on the beach.” I guess only some dreams can become a reality.

The next evening I was back in Perpignan for a fairly exhilarating two days involving some attempted cliff diving, some mountain running, and one terrifying evening from the back of a scooter. These few days were unlike my last stay in Perpignan in that I now had a plan. Beziers was 90 miles away and I was going to make it there for their biggest street party of the year, La Feria!

Cheers from Llanca!

One “Nasty Monday” in Barcelona, Spain

2010-09-11T00:32:00.000-07:00

The sun beat down on my black Spin kit. The sweat crystallized on my jersey before I even had the chance to realize that I was sweating. The chosen route to Girona, the halfway point to Barcelona, was on incredibly hilly coastal roads. The road would climb out of each quiet Mediterranean beach village until it eventually started to descend into the next village. This repeated for hours. The climbs were steep and long, but each time the road reached the summit, I was greeted with one incredible view. I tried to fight the urge to get off my bike every 5 minutes to take another picture. Over one of the last climbs, I finally crossed into Spain. The smell of the Spanish countryside immediately hit me. Cow shit. Ugh. The temperatures rose even more, and I started to have trouble keeping myself hydrated. I had been riding pretty hard all morning. I didn’t like the idea of “touring,” so I had been riding like a normal training day (with 35lbs of gear). As I started to get closer to Girona, I realized that an 80 mile ride with bags was more like a 100+ mile ride. My bonk hit swiftly at 65 miles, just outside of Figueres, Spain. My head sank low for the last hour into Girona. After over 5 hours of riding in the sun, I needed some cool weather and some sleep. Instead, I received an uncomfortable bed in a shitty hostel with no windows and a night full of sweating. At one point, I woke up, ripped the sheets off the bed, walked to the shower, soaked them in cold water, made my bed, and went back to sleep. Even though I was wet, it worked and I got some much needed rest.

The next day ended up being the second most challenging day I’ve spent on a bicycle. **The other came a week later when I rode through the windiest region in France on my way to Beziers** I woke up early thinking that I needed to do another run, so I set out into the streets of Girona. I followed a nice river trail to the outskirts of the city. As morning came, the fog lifted off the river, and I was treated to a beautiful run in a fairly dirty Spanish city. Exhausted from a lack of sleep and my morning run, I took a quick nap before they finally kicked me out of the hostel. It was around 12 and it was already starting to get hot again.

The ride to Barcelona was one of the worst afternoons I had this entire month. The countryside was dull and infinite, the sun was hot as hell, and the wind pelted me head on for the duration of the ride. I couldn’t get any break from the wind, and I started to realize that I would probably have this headwind for the entire 80 miles. Luckily, I found a little entertainment to keep my mind preoccupied. As I slowly made my way through the Spanish countryside, I started to notice young women hanging out on the side of the road. When I passed the first woman, I assumed she was selling something on the side of the road (she pretty much was). In southern Arizona, there are plenty of people that sell food and crafts on the side of the highway. I assumed this was like that. I slowed down thinking that maybe I could buy some food. The girl stood up from under her umbrella, turned around, hiked up her skirt and flashed me her backside.

“Ahhhhh!” It was a shrill of shear shock and a little excitement.

I couldn’t even believe it. I had never seen prostitutes outside of the city like this. Most of them were very young and somewhat attractive eastern European women. If anything was going to save this ride, it was going to be free nudity. The closer I got to Barcelona, the more naked women I saw (a precursor to what my stay in Barcelona was like). Around 20 miles out, I hit the seaside and the real headwind struck. Those last 20 miles took me around 2 hours. I tried to have patience, but there were no more prostitutes.

Rolling into Barcelona was a bit overwhelming. The city was large and I had no idea where my host, Luis, lived. Again, my GPS worked for shit and it took me an hour to find his apartment. As he opened the door to his centrally located apartment (he lived in the gothic area right between the beach and the city), I was hit with a blast of AC. I welcomed the icy apartment with open arms. Never mind the fact that my bed was a love seat, his apartment was freezing. I loved it.

After some much needed food and a few beers, I felt like Luis was an old friend. Luis is a very particular, laid back yet outgoing, homosexual from Argentina. It took me awhile to realize that he was gay, but his fairly flamboyant and weirdly gigantic French roommate should have been a slight give away. In any sense, I could have cared less about Luis’s sexual preference. I was just happy to have such a caring and hospitable host in Barcelona. Plus, we got along well and I had this feeling that my time in Barcelona would be unforgettable.

The next day was Monday. Nasty Monday to be exact… but I’ll get to that later. Exhausted from the last few days of travel, I slept until 1pm. Luis had just got back from work and we made plans to go to the pool later. Because of travel, I hadn’t been swimming much. Let’s just say, swim training in Barcelona was well worth the 10 Euros I paid for pool access. It was kind of like paying cover at a strip club and then getting to do a swim workout. Walking out onto the pool deck was like walking into a women’s locker room. Almost every woman was topless. I felt like I was overdressed in my tiny blue Speedo. I found an open lane and tried to start my workout. But to my surprise, the women don’t just tan topless, they train topless too! Two fairly attractive (and topless) Spanish women asked to share my lane. I quickly nodded my head in agreement. Both women wore bottoms, a swim cap and goggles, and both women were legitimately doing swim workouts. I tried to do my workout, but I ended up doing an impromptu kick set. I couldn’t help myself. Instead of trying to blend into the odd swimming environment, I used my go-to excuse for this trip… “It’s okay. I’m American.”

As we left the pool and headed towards the beach for some post workout relaxing, I saw a very odd site. Looking back now, it wasn’t so odd for Barcelona, but at the time it was quite shocking. A man walked down the city streets completely naked. With some sandals on his feet and a bag draped over his shoulder, he walked through the streets like it was no big deal. I couldn’t stop starring. This was NOT normal for me.

Later at the beach, **Luis actually took me to the gay beach without telling me** I saw way more nudity, male and female, and a few other things that I would rather not share here. Although, if you would like to know, just ask me. I have pictures too!

That night we met up with a few friends of Luis for what we will call “Nasty Monday.” It was already 10pm, which means I could finally get some dinner. In Spain, restaurants don’t even open until 9pm. This was a weird part of Spanish culture that I didn’t like too much. Anyways, after dinner and a few drinks, we headed out to this club in the heart of the city. It was a Monday night and I didn’t think that it was going to be too eventful. We arrived around midnight, grabbed a few gin and tonics and hung out in the empty club. Fast forward 20 minutes… the club is freaking packed! In literally 20 minutes, 500 people packed this club. I couldn’t even believe it. The music was bumping, my judgment was fairly slighted and I was ready for what Barcelona had to offer…

The clock clicked past 1:00pm before my body was somewhat functional again. With that retched hangover cloud floating over my head, I tried to engage in some touristy activities. I quickly decided the tourism is boring and it was too damn dehydrated to be roaming through the park, no matter how beautiful the landscape (Park Guell was quite stunning and I would absolutely recommend this tourist attraction, especially in the winter). I took retreat in an icy apartment.

Tired of feeling the effects of Barcelona, I convinced myself that I needed to run myself into some type normalcy. Being that Barcelona is quite polluted, I took the train to the outskirts of the city. Once out of the train station, I ran straight up… a pattern that frequented my runs in Spain and the south of France. The road twisted and turned as I climbed out of the city. Not accustom to the steep grade, my quads burned with that lovely feeling of lactic acid. My breathing was heavy and my hangover was quickly a feeling of the past. The grade evened out for a bit, but my effort continued to climb. Latching onto a struggling mountain biker, my climbing pace turned into a tempo as I followed him onto a dirt trail.

With a slight turn of the head, I whispered to myself, “You have got to me kidding me…”

I was greeted with the most beautiful view Barcelona had to offer. The narrow dirt trail, cut out of the side of the mountain, went for miles and miles. Over my right shoulder was all of Barcelona with the infinite sea in the farthest distance. I hammered along the oblique surface displaying a small smirk that barely revealed my euphoric state of mind… My mind was a clear slate… total blankness. I didn’t dare think about the long trip ahead.

Running into the sky in Perpignan, France

2010-09-06T23:58:00.000-07:00

After a long train ride from Geneva, I finally arrived in Perpignan, France. I was tired and a little perturbed after standing in a crowded train car attempting to hold my bike up. I thought to myself, “How amazing will it be to finally start traveling by bike.” After two days of travel, I was tired of trains and long flights. **By the end of my trip, I was ecstatic to catch a train back to Geneva**

My train arrived in the center of Perpignan. I had a host set up outside of the city, but like many mistakes I made on this trip, I failed to realize how far outside of the city he lived. Looking back now, I wish he would have said “Pedal to the mountains, then pedal up the mountain.” Instead, I had a list of confusing directions. Being that it was my first time attempting to ride anywhere on my converted race bike / touring machine, it did not go well. I ended up lost, following my GPS, which was set for traveling by car. While I flew down the side of the freeway (incredibly unsafe decision) at 30mph, I was starting to get seriously scared. If bike touring was like this, I wasn’t going to survive one week of this trip. Lucky for me, I found an exit and proceeded on an alternative route. Unlucky for me, the navigation function on my phone drained my battery and I was now lost and without a phone. Because I was relying on my phone for EVERYTHING, I started to feel like I was screwed. It was now getting dark. Fuck. **After this mishap, I started to rely solely on paper maps and written directions**

Nothing in the last month went as planned. Everyday, I found myself in a situation where I had to think on my feet. If there is one lesson that I learned in the last month of traveling, it is to live everyday minute by minute… to never stress out over little disasters… and to truly believe that everything will work out, no matter how bad the situation seems.

Lost and confused, I did what anyone would do. I found a bar. Now, I know that I was only a few kilometers away from my host’s home in a small village that lay in the foothills of the Pyrenees. But, at the time, I had no freaking clue where I was! I sat at the small local bar, ordered a beer, and asked if I could plug my phone in. After a few beers, my phone was alive and I was able to continue into the mountains. As I climbed higher, the homes became more and more beautiful. When I arrived, I was greeted by Matt, a short, corky British guy in his 30s. Staying with Matt ended up being an amazing decision. His home was nestled deep in the Pyrenees. It was equipped with a small basement apartment and swimming pool. It took some time to truly get to know Matt, but what I uncovered was a selfless, strong willed, well educated guy with a lot to share. Matt was also a brilliant chef and didn’t mind cooking for me both nights that I stayed with him.

The next morning, I jumped on my bike and headed towards the sea. With my speedo, goggles, sandals, and towel strapped to my bike rack, I flew down the mountain towards the sea. Matt had given me directions to a more private beach called La Plage de Paulille, about 20 miles outside of town. I made him promise me that there were no big sharks in the sea **there weren’t any sharks, just lots of fish** The water was chilly, but the sun was hot. I definitely liked swimming in the crystal clear Mediterranean water. Avoiding snorkelers ended up being the most difficult task. The water was calm and I started to enjoy swimming with the fish. The ride back into the mountains was much more difficult, but I was excited to be riding in a new place. The roads were steep, narrow and winding. Each small village I passed through was a welcomed change to the steep mountain roads. Back outside Sorede at Matt’s house, he had just finished up work and wanted to go for a mountain run. I assumed there were some decent trails in the area, so I gladly went along. I should have realized what the run would be like when Matt said “we’ll basically run up the mountain for 6km and then run back down.” Up we went indeed.

The dirt switch backs had us climbing faster than I thought was possible. The road was steep and it was difficult to keep a running pace. Every time the road twisted back towards Perpignan, we were greeted with the most amazing view of the region. As we stumbled higher into the sky, the view became increasingly more beautiful. When the dirt road ended, a narrow and rooted single track trail began. It snaked its way higher into the mountain. The terrain became technical and Matt’s short stride started to benefit him. I had never seen anyone run technical terrain like Matt did. Jumping over rocks, climbing ledges, and running through roots like a football player running through tires. I tried to stay as close as possible. Towards the top of the mountain, we weren’t even running anymore. The trail was so steep that we used our hands to climb the rock ledges. Looking up, I could see the feeble ruins of a thousand year old watch tower. We climbed towards the sky. Once we reached the summit, I was greeted with one of the greatest sites I had ever seen with my own two eyes. We could see for a hundred miles in both directions. We looked down on the Mediterranean Sea with Perpignan, the Pyrenees and all of

France

on our left, and the Spanish countryside on our right. I took a few deep breathes, spun around and screamed into the night as the wind nearly knocked me off the stone ledge.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?! Matt! This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen in my life!” He laughed and nodded his head.

The next morning, I packed my bags and started the 160 mile trip to Barcelona. What was waiting in Spain was a totally different type of adventure, but it wouldn’t even be three days before I had myself repeating the exact same phrase that I screamed on top of the mountain that night outside Perpignan.

Cheers from the Pyrenees!

Bikes, Bocci, and Beer in Geneva, Switzerland

2010-09-04T11:33:00.000-07:00

It was 2:00am in Cleveland when my plane landed in Switzerland. Exhausted from the flight, I knew I would have a long day ahead of me. After collecting my suitcases and bike box, I found a quiet corner and started putting my bike together. Arriving in a new country, building a bike in the airport, and riding out the front door is an interesting experience to say the least. Someone from the training center in Premanon was kind enough to meet me at the airport to get my bike box and suitcases. He didn’t speak English, but knew I was grateful for his help. By the time I was ready to roll out, the anxiety started to kick in. If I spoke any French at all, the first few hours would have been MUCH easier.

I needed to find downtown Geneva, find the train station, book a ticket to Spain, find a place to stay and situate my belongings. Sounds easy enough, but when no one in Switzerland seemed to speak English, the task became much harder.

My plan was to use my cell phone to find the train station. But the address was on my dead laptop and my phone was too dead to open the navigation. Great… After an hour of attempting to not get hit by traffic, I finally made it to the station. This was a success, but I found out that I could not bring my bike to Spain without packing it in a box. I guess I am going to the south of France instead. I booked the ticket for the next day, and made my way down the street to the Youth Hostel. It was 1pm in Geneva and I couldn’t check in until 2pm. I was hungry anyways, so I found a pub on the corner and had a sandwich and beer.

After checking into an insanely expensive dorm room with 9 other people, **seriously, it was like 30 euros for this bed** I locked my belongings in a locker and headed out for a run. After a quarter mile, I was on a path that circled Lake Geneva. Although crowded, it was a gorgeous place to run. The exhilaration of running in a new city had me floating through sub 6 minute miles. I knew I should slow down, but it was the best I’ve felt in months. I was healthy, in a new city, and finally running well. I said “screw it” and continued to hammer down the road. I felt my pace waver momentarily, but that changed as I ran by a group of topless women lying on the rocks. I quickly decided that my turn around should be here. I doubled back, slowed wayyyyyyy down, took a long look (it was free nudity), said bonjour in my crappy American accent, and then continued on my way. I thought to myself “Geneva isn’t all that bad.”

After a shower and short nap, I figured it would be a good time to take the bike out and really see the city. I tossed on some jeans, tied my shoes to the bike rack, and headed out. After cruising around the city for awhile, I found the “Old City.” It sat a few hundred feet above downtown, surrounded by large stone walls. My bike wobbled as I tore through the cobble stone streets. This city was definitely a site to see. I sat down at a small café, ordered something in French, and ended up with a dish that resembled a cross between a thin crust pizza and a pancake. **It was a crepe, but at the time, I thought all crepes were sweet** After dinner/breakfast, I cruised through a few of the parks that surrounded the old city. When I finally headed away from the old city, I was attracted to the skate park I saw in the distance. Across from the skate park was a large stone bocci ball court. The court was filled with younger guys and girls drinking 1664 and playing bocci ball. After watching for a moment, I rode up to the fence.

“Par-lay voo ong-lay?” Asking someone if they spoke English was the only phrase that I had mastered so far.

“Yeah, we do,” they responded.

“Thank god. Ummm, can I play?”

“I guess so. You’ll make four so we can play teams”

“Sounds good to me,” I said as I forced my way into their game (this is how I make friends).

“You want a beer?”

“Hells yeah!” I shouted. These guys seem alright to me.

After an hour of playing bocci and a victory that I had earned, they invited me to roll with them for the rest of the night. With no other plans, I gladly accepted. We all hopped on our bikes, slightly buzzed, and began ripping through the city as the sun set. By the time we got to the festival on the lake it was dark. After locking our bikes to a fence that had been erected for the festival, we grabbed some burgers and beers and found a place in the grass. With thousands and thousands of people gathering for this summer event, it was the biggest festival I had ever been to. **Until two weeks later when I attended La Feria in Beziers, France** After a few beers, we went to jump back on the bikes but ran into a small problem. The festival workers had continued to put up fences and our bikes had become fenced in. After a good laugh, I considered climbing it, but quickly remembered that I don’t climb fences anymore. No worries though, the fences were zip tied together and I had my pocket knife on me. After tearing down their fence, we quickly got on the bikes and headed into the park for a late night concert. The music wasn’t my style but the beer and large amounts of women were my style. As our blood alcohol levels grew, our group had begun to grow as well. We now had around 12 people rolling through town on bikes. We headed back to a bar near the festival and picked up right were we left off. By 2am, these guys had become old friends. We laughed and drank late into the night. We joked about our differences in culture and I actually learned quite a bit from them about French culture. I even had the awkward pleasure of kissing a female acquaintances three times on the cheek. **It was only awkward the first time, I got used to this part of French culture very quickly**

We finally called it a night when it began to rain. After a short, wet and semi-drunken cycle back to the youth hostel, I stumbled up to my 10 person dorm room. I woke everyone up as I slammed my locker shut (several times) by accident. As I lay on the stiff mattress, I thought back on the evening. “This is exactly why I wanted to travel by myself.” By forcing myself to be social with strangers, I had an amazing time in a brand new city. If this is the pattern for the next 4 weeks, it is going to be a long month! **It was indeed a VERY long month**

Cheers from Switzerland!

One Adventure Ends, Another Begins

2010-08-31T23:53:00.000-07:00

I have barely began telling the story of this trip, but I feel a deep urge to write about the ending as it happens. I’m rolling out of the Lyon train station, and I can’t help but get this weird feeling of déjà vu. Twenty four days ago, I traveled down the same tracks and saw the exact same sites. But everything was different then. I’m not going to go into some rant about how traveling through Europe has changed my life. Three and a half weeks on the road is barely long enough to make your clothes dirty. But traveling alone, thousands of miles away from anyone resembling a friend, does change a person. You learn a lot about yourself when you are alone.

Taking myself out of my element was something that I should have done a long time ago. In a weird way, I almost feel like I matured a bit in the last few weeks. Everyday on the road brought a new challenge, and everyday I was forced to make a decision. In any sense, my encounters, adventures, and countless days under the warm Mediterranean sun gave me a new perspective on my life. So many people take trips to “find themselves.” I didn’t find myself, I just opened my eyes a little wider. Life can’t always be about the goals achieved or the tasks accomplished. Maybe it is more about the people you influence and the people that you allow to influence you? As an endurance athlete, I’m constantly engaged in this mission to understand my body. Not only to understand how it functions physically, but how and why I make certain decisions. If I could truly figure myself out, I could figure out how to push my body to my absolute limit. Well, spending the last twenty four days on a bike, definitely gave myself a small glimpse into my own head.

Like any trip, I had good days, bad days and really bad days. But everyday taught me something about myself. I made numerous friends along the way, had some amazing conversations, and took a little bit away from every single encounter. Following this post is the story of my trip. Like any good story, certain details may be left for a long bike ride or evening at the bar, but I will do my best to share as much as possible.

As the sun sets in France and I pass through the Alps on my way back to Geneva, my mind races. I have that weird feeling deep down when you know your life is changing. Regardless, I know where my life is heading and my eyes are open wide. My heart is settled and I know what I want to accomplish. My life is Ironman and nothing else. I am healthy, strong, focused, and ready to uncover something I have spent years searching for. It is time to create my own destiny. It is time to write a story that I will never need to tell.

"I thought you were like an Ironman"

2010-07-12T08:37:00.000-07:00

My quadriceps screamed silently. My focus was sharp but my steering seemed to waver. I tried to keep the bike from crossing the white line. The road tilted upward and for the first time in a while, I was not sure if I possessed the power to muscle the machine home. I could barely see Doug in the distance… his red light flashing. I tried to close the gap, but my load was much too heavy. He was having a much easier time with the task at hand. I started to grin as I made the final push home.

“Oh my god… I thought you were like an Ironman? Can’t you go any faster?”

I quickly shot a mean look to the slightly overweight girl sitting on the bike rack behind me. Oh well. If I wasn’t pedaling her mountain bike home, I’d be walking. Who said you can’t get a workout done after midnight.

Thursday night was the perfect night for a beer and a few aggressive games of foosball. Usually, late nights are avoided during the triathlon season, but Doug just raced an Ironman and I just came off a 3 month injury. Note: our original goal was responsibility. We rode the bus downtown from North Boulder for two reasons; no drinking and driving and the last bus leaves at midnight. This left us with plenty of rest before our 95 mile tour of the Rockies. But in true AJ Baucco fashion, we missed the bus home and had to find an alternative route. Most people would have caught a cab… we met two girls willing to let us pedal them home. This would have been a great plan, if I would have been pedaling the 90lb girl home.

Fast forward to the next morning… my quads are sore. Seriously?

We rolled out of North Boulder at noon, which, in my opinion, is the absolute EARLIEST time that two single and motivated triathletes should start training. A cloudy morning had progressed into the most beautifully sunny and warm day that I have seen in weeks. I let my bike coast as I took in my surrounding. We were flying down the hill that tore off my legs the night before. Knowing what type of ride lay ahead of me, I let the hill do the work.

Downtown was buzzing as usual. We crossed Pearl Street and took a right into Boulder Canyon. Doug started his watch and we quickly powered ahead until our heart rates settles around 150 beats per minute. The climb through the Canyon to Ned was 19 miles into the sky. We knew it would take an hour, so we settled down and cranked away… one pedal stroke at a time.

My sweat poured from the climb, but the cold mountain air sent chills down my spine. We had been working for 55 minutes. In the distance, I could see the last turn before Nederland, a town that sits on top of the mountain at 8,300ft above sea level. After one last steep pitch, the road bends to the right and descends a few hundred feet into Ned. To your left sits one of the most beautiful lakes you’ve seen. Surrounding the lake is that small mountain town. Doug pushes the last climb hard and starts to descend into Ned like he was racing Mark Cavendish for a stage win. This could only mean one thing… we were racing to each city limit sign. It was a friendly competition that may kill us by the end of the day. I barely even considered this thought as I ripped into the mountain on Doug’s wheel. I could see the city limit sign 400 meters away. Doug was laying down too much power. My heart rate exploded. 170 bpm… 175 bpm…. I tried to sprint but he had already gapped me. Doug – 1, AJ – 0.

Climbing out of Ned onto the Peak to Peak Highway is a bitch. The road is technically considered rolling terrain, but all of these hills are several minute climbs, if not more. The Peak to Peak Highway is a road that literally sits on top of the mountain. It stretches for over 40 miles and undulates between 8,500ft and 9,300ft above sea level. The air is way to thin and the road is steep. For a reference, the first 4 times I made it up to the Peak to Peak Highway, I got sick from the high altitude… This included several migraines, general dizziness, and one lost lunch. Today, we would be spending the majority of the ride on the Peak to Peak. This road was no joke. It has beaten some of the world’s best athletes. We settled into a good rhythm and pedaled toward Ward.

As we got closer to Ward, I tried to remember where the city limit sign was located. I didn’t want to jump too early and blow up, but I couldn’t risk losing a second sprint to Doug. I thought the sign was at the top of a small climb… but which one. Halfway up the last small climb into Ward, I saw the sign in the distance, we both did. It was an instantaneous jump. We both flew toward Ward. I slipped into my drops and violently threw my bike back and forth. My jump must have been a half second before his because I was able to out lean Doug at the sign. I kissed my hands and threw them up towards the sky, thanking god for this little victory. Doug, obviously not approving of my victory dance, tried to startle me off my bike. Luckily, he didn’t succeed. We coasted and sucked every bit of oxygen available. There wasn’t much at 9,300ft above sea level. AJ – 1, Doug – 1.

Finally, the Peak to Peak Highway was seeing more downhills than uphills. We had been generally climbing for the last two hours, and the hard downhills were a welcomed break. We had 28 more rolling miles to Estes Park. Again, we tried to lower our heart rates and settle into a pace… easier said than done at 9,000ft. Using every downhill to our advantage, we torn through the mountain. For every 3 minutes of descending, we had to climb for 10 minutes. It was starting to wear us down. Pushing me along was Doug’s promise that we had a long descent into Estes Park, a town that sits in the middle of the mountain at 7,400ft above sea level. Finally that descent came… it surely was a fast one.

The traffic into Estes was light but unavoidable. We descended with the cars. The descent starts at 9,000ft and descends about 1,500ft in a few miles. It is an incredibly fast descent with no need for the brakes. I tried to stay close to Doug because I knew we would be sprinting for the city limit sign at the edge of town. The first mile of downhill yields the most amazing view I have ever seen from a bicycle. Ripping down the mountain at 40mph, I am looking off the edge of the world. The town sitting below me is amazingly beautiful. It is nestled into the mountains with a large lake in the center of town. I try to concentrate on the road that is quickly disappearing beneath my wheel. The road twists and turns off the mountain. Doug, having more experience on this road, pushes the limits and takes every turn hard. I tried to take the last turn hard¸ but a heavy headwind stops me in my tracks. I try to sprint but it is much too late. I shake my head in disgust as Doug forms his hand into a pistol and shoots it into the sky. Doug – 2, AJ – 1.

The climb out of Estes Park was designed by the devil himself. I feel like I have been climbing all day, and this 2 mile, 6% grade sends me to a world of discomfort. Doug takes the lead and pedals hard into the climb. I sit a few inches off his wheel and try to keep my cadence high. I stare at my watch as I witness my heart rate sore. This climb was the last nail in my coffin. We were 4 hours into the ride and all I wanted was a quick descent off the mountain right into my bed (aka Doug’s futon). With 200 meters to go, I popped. Doug went forward, I went backward. There was no fight left in me. Done and done.

Riding back into Lyons was fast as ever. Sitting on 30mph and throwing the bike into each winding turn. My neck and back grew sore from my tucked position, but my legs thanked me. Again, I lost Doug’s wheel on the hard downhills. He only has 15lbs on me, but it really helps him fly down hills. I could see the city limit sign in the distance. It was his. Doug – 3, AJ – 1.

Once into Lyons, we had 11 miles of rolling hills back to Boulder. We were over 80 miles into the ride and neither of us had any urgency left. We knocked the pace back and pedaled back into town. Giving us an extra kick, was a strong tailwind. Once it started blowing, we regained a small amount of competitive edge. At this point, I could see Doug’s condo in the distance. Only two smaller hills before we were home. We hit the base of the first hill and immediately started to increase our power. At this point, the wind was pushing us with tremendous force. My GPS read 27mph. It was slowly increasing. With 100 meters to go, I glanced at Doug, he glanced back, and we started flying towards the top. Doug was low in his aero position cranking away at his pedals. I was a few inches to his right, standing on my pedals, throwing my bike around, and pushing with everything I had. The street sign at the top of the hill must be our finishing line. We both gave it one last push, but because of my standing position, I was able to throw my bike at the line first. I had won by 2 inches… later Doug said he didn’t know where the finish line was but we all know that is bullshit.

Doug had won more sprints, but I won the final climb. We both survived the ride on one of the most grueling roads I have ever been on. The Peak to Peak Highway is truly a road for tough MFers. Remember that! We ended up getting in about 95miles in a little over 5 hours. The route went up to 9,300ft and had a total amount of about 7,500ft of climbing. It was definitely an epic adventure in my book, but then again, what isn’t?

Cheers.

“AJ, meet Mountains. Mountains, AJ.”

2010-06-26T17:25:00.000-07:00

The first five days in Boulder have easily been the best five days of 2010. Making these days even sweeter was the blessing of a semi-healthy foot. Ditching my cast and crutches has been almost as freeing as riding a bike through town naked. Not that I would know what how free that feels… The mountains are a beautiful place, and as a kid from Cleveland, Ohio, I just want to climb!

Here is a look at my first week in a cycling paradise…a week full of tough training and a few really late nights.

Day 1: Sunday, June 20, 2010

It is always nice to get reacquainted with an old friend. Although, it is important to note that my definition of an “old friend” is much different than most people. In some circumstances, I can consider an individual an old friend after one long day. For those few people, they know exactly who they are.

An old friend in my life is someone that satisfies two criteria. First, that person needs to have gone on some type of adventure with me, whether it is a grueling long run, a climb up a mountain, or an epic pub crawl. Embarking on this adventure is how I really get to know what a person has deep down. Satisfying the second criteria may be even easier. When that long day has come to end, joining me for a drink solidifies the bond that had been built all day. After a few stories, a few laughs, and quite possibly a few too many beers, I can truly consider this person an old friend.

Like a small number of people, Doug Maclean was an old friend very shortly after I met him in Tucson. With that being said, coming to Boulder to train with him and a few other “old friends” was truly a pleasure.

On Sunday, we headed out to get a taste of what Boulder had to offer. The ride to Lyons is short; a quick 30 minutes in the saddle. The climb from Lyons takes much longer. It isn’t a steep climb, but it is very, very long. Since Doug was tapering for Ironman, we cut the climb very short. Our 2 hour recovery ride ended in a flash. I had seen some of the most beautiful sites I had ever seen from a bike. I was officially in love with the mountains.

Day 2: Monday, June 21, 2010

I was told swimming in Boulder would be much more difficult, but it was really hard to tell from the first day at the Scott Carpenter pool. Because I have been swimming more than 20,000 yards most weeks this year, my swimming is as strong as its ever been. I got into a set of 200s with ITU pro Marybeth Ellis. I started the set late, but it was nice to swim with someone that was my same speed.

The second day of riding was my first real introduction to the types of climbs that Boulder has to offer. After 90 minutes of riding in the plains, I headed up Lee Hill Road. After a few minutes of gradual climbing, the road shoots towards the sky. The 22% grade hugs the hillside a few miles northwest of town. My heart rate immediately exploded. Lactic acid shot through my body. My mind was at rest while my body worked efficiently. The only task at hand was heading toward the sky. At the top of Lee Hill Road, I hung a left on Deer Trail. I immediately regretted that decision. The road turned steeper and I struggled to stay upright. After a few minutes, I pulled over with my white flag raised. It was a good introduction to what the next few days would offer.

Day 3: Tuesday, June 22, 2010

The third night on the “hardest, but most available futon in Boulder” didn’t allow me much rest and recovery. Because I was up with the sun, I figured it would be a perfect day to swim in the Reservoir. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, the Boulder Area Masters team sets up a 1000 meter swim course. I woke up with several loops. A few hard efforts and 45 minutes of high aerobic swimming allowed me to cover about 4000 meters.

After an hour nap, I woke up to Janna Lynn knocking at the door. Janna Lynn is ITU pro, Kelsey Winthrow’s roommate in Salt Lake City. I had never met Janna Lynn, but she is a close friend of Kelsey, who is definitely one of those “old friends” from Tucson. When I heard she was in town, I jumped at the opportunity to meet someone new. That afternoon, we headed back to Scott Carpenter pool for a second swim. At the pool was the whose who of professional racing. I was sandwiched between Crowie, the Bennetts, Dibens, Carfrae, O’Donnell and Ellis. You could say I was in good company. Joining me for my second swim was another “old friend” from Tucson, Doug Fahlbusch. Doug is an incredible mountain biker, downhiller, and swimmer. He is one of those guys that doesn’t ever shit talk. He just rips your legs off. We did a strong sprint set full of 50s. I was delighted to see my splits nearing 30 seconds for 50 meters.

That evening, Janna Lynn and I headed out to finish the climb out of Lyons that I had started two days ago. The road gradually climbs up to Peak to Peak Highway at over 9000ft above sea level. The road never sees grades higher than 12% or 14%, but it is a very long climb. We settled into a rhythm and clicked away at the miles. We called it a day after 90 minutes of climbing. The ride back into town was sluggish. It was a tough day of training. The trials of miles have been slipping back into my life and they have been received quite well. It feels good to work hard again.

Day 4: Wednesday, June 23, 2010

After a few beers on Tuesday evening, Doug Fahlbusch, Janna Lynn, and I decided to climb something epic. Our choice was Super James. I spent the morning watching the US soccer team beat Algeria in extra time. My adrenaline was pumping, the day was beautiful, and an epic adventure lay right outside of town.

We started the climb towards Jamestown, a small town that lay in the mountains at around 7000ft above sea level. The beginning of the climb is fairly easy, but Doug was at the front mashing from the start. My heart rate was nearing 170 before we ever got started. I was doomed… After Jamestown, the road tilts in a way that makes you squirm. The locals call this ride to the Peak to Peak Highway “Super James.” From Jamestown on, the road doesn’t dip below 10%. I let Doug ride away; I needed to conserve energy if I was going to make it 2000 more feet into the sky. Janna Lynn slipped into a rhythm a few hundred feet behind me… Every man (or woman) for themselves. After cresting 8000ft, the road really turns upward. Looking up, I can see a series of switchbacks that are all over 20%. We were on top of the world. I cranked away slowly. No urgency left, this was the hardest climb of my life and I was in survival mode. I begged for relief, but the mountain was incapable of granting me this one wish. The road got steeper. With everything I had, I climbed to 9000ft. Once into Ward, an old mountain town that resides at 9300ft above sea level, we stopped for a soda and some recovery. I couldn’t breathe. The air was too thin. I felt nausea creeping into my already destroyed body. My body has never been at 9300ft above sea level. I pleaded with the group to hit the road. I needed to get off the mountain. The descent through Left Hand Canyon was fast and furious. Doug, an experienced Downhiller, ripped past 25mph signs at over 40 mph. Leaning into each bend, he slowly put distance between us. I rested my chin on my bars in order to rip through the wind. We flew back towards town. We finished the ride with one last climb up Old Stage Road. It was steep and it only twisted the dagger that was already lodged in my lungs.

Once back home, I quickly fell asleep. I awoke with that deep feeling of fatigue. After an adventure that quickly makes acquaintances, old friends, Janna Lynn dragged me out for beer to seal the deal. We sat on Pearl Street and watched a street performer juggle fire and knives while riding a unicycle. I couldn’t believe that this kid didn’t kill himself or someone else. Pearl Street is an interesting place… the perfect setting for a night of debauchery. That night quickly came on Thursday.

Day 5: Thursday, June 24, 2010

My body was destroyed from Super James. I was lucky to even make it to the pool on Thursday. Again, the pool was filled with the world’s greatest triathletes. Doug and Janna Lynn joined me for another workout. Also at the pool was long course star, Sam McGlone. I hadn’t seen her for a couple months. It was nice to catch up with her for a second. I did some REALLY tough workouts with Sam in Tucson. It was nice to get reacquainted with her.

That night we all met up with a group of 10 guys from Kansas City. Among them, was a kid named Ben. What happened in the next 12 hours would absolutely allow me to call Ben an “old friend.”

Even though we all committed to climbing Left Hand Canyon to Ward on Friday morning, we couldn’t pass up the opportunity for a night of drinking. What transpired that evening will have to be talked about elsewhere, but it includes the following… Beer, Tequila, Foosball, a live band ripping “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” a strip club, a dance club, a mechanical bull, Tequila, a beautiful local gal, and a very fuzzy walk/crawl/skip/run home.

Day 6: Friday, June 25, 2010

The next morning came quickly. Three hours of sleep and one incredible hangover left me shuttering at the thought of climbing to 9000ft again. We showed up at the coffee shop a little late but ready to ride. We all felt the effects of the previous night, but our will to climb was strong. We knew what we were getting ourselves into.

Ben, Janna Lynn, and I hammered into the start of the climb. The group had left town 5 minutes before us, so we had some making up to do. Ben led the group hard into the 6% grade. After 15 minutes of climbing, we saw the main pack ahead. We flew back into the group and went directly to the front. After a few minutes, I started laying down some power, breaking the group apart. If I was going to feel like a walking corpse, everyone was going to feel like it. Joining me in the lead pack was five, well rested, “tapered” and eager riders. My effort made me feel dizzy. Last night’s tequila crept into my throat. To avoid a mishap, I went to the back and sat in for a few miles.

A couple miles from Ward, the road gets steep again. Twelve percent grades are common and a few pitches reach sixteen. Again, I went to the front and started hammering. I wasn’t about to let a hangover ruin my climb. I pushed hard and the pack behind me started to string out. I put down the hammered and rode away on the first steep pitch. Again, it was every man for himself. I continued to push hard with total disregard for the feeling of pain, sickness, and oxygen debt that was rushing to my brain. The end was near and I knew that I had just owned the mountain. I was the first up the mountain.

At 9000ft, I started to feel too ill to control my body. A combination of the altitude and the previous night’s antics had caught up to me. I found myself in a bush on the side of the road expelling everything that my body couldn’t handle. Thinking back, maybe I should have taken that climb a little easier… but that wouldn’t really be my style.

The rest of that day was just as ambitious as climbing mountains after a late night of drinking. We met up with Sam McGlone for a margarita and some tubing in the Boulder Creek. All of us hurt ourselves in some way. We finished the adventure the way we started… on Pearl Street late into the night. We tried our best to hang all night, but each of us was completely unable of reliving the previous night.

The last week has been RIDICULOUS. I really hope I can continue this string of awesomeness for the next 4 weeks in Boulder, Colorado.

Cheers!!!

Goodbye Tucson, Hello Boulder!!!

2010-06-20T16:03:00.000-07:00

Waking up at 5am will never be easy, but today wasn't like other days. Today was the beginning of the best summer of my life. Nothing like 4 months of traveling and training to make up for a spoiled season.

I decided to take the longer, more scenic route to Boulder, Colorado. I passed through Flagstaff, Sedona, Moab, Vail, and Breckenridge. I literally drove through the Rockie Mountains. This 13 hour trip, which I did solo, was one of the best drives of my life. Beautiful scenery and plenty of time to consider the next 6 months of my life. On a side note, I was able to pack all my belonging in my car. It is a pretty satisfying feeling to have the ability to pack your life up in an afternoon and leave town. My roommate Steve put it best, "There is nothing like packing everything you own into your car and just pissing off for a few months."

Here are some photos from the trip. Keep checking this blog for plenty of updates. The next 5 weeks in Boulder will definitely be exciting.

Rolling through the Sedona area, not too far from the Grand Canyon

Amazing view of the red rocks

Heading into the Moab area

Moab was ridiculously beautiful. I need to stop there on the way back to Phoenix for a workout.

Into Colorado

View from I-70 was incredible, had to pull over a few times

The Colorado River

West bound highway was on top with raging white water rapids to my right

Near Vail, Colorado. I drove right over this mountain range.

Tunnels through the Mountains!!

Near Golden, awesome views from the pull offs

Cheers everyone!

Winter in Tucson, Arizona

2010-06-18T15:33:00.000-07:00

Enjoying the sunset on top of my favorite Tucson climb, Gates Pass

Sammy J and I drinking a little whiskey... why not?

Kaitlin and I during our last BBQ in Tucson

At the Desert Museum... but a snake just like this slid into my garage once!

Crashing the nicest resort in Tucson for a little rest and recovery

Trying to train when half of our normal riding routes were flooded!

Katie and I after an evening "hike" on top of Gates Pass

Out of the water in the first chase pack (on the far right), less than 2 minutes off leader Chris McDonald

Driving up Mount Lemmon on my first evening in Tucson

I took a bite out of a snake that was at the bottom of a $200 bottle of sake.

On top of the world, inches away from falling off a mountain

Endless winter miles

Road rash from a gnarly crash. If you want to hear the whole story, ask me sometime ;)

On top of Mt. Lemmon. Most satisfying cookie in Arizona.

2nd Overall at Rage Triathlon, had the day's fastest (legitimate) bike split

Last night in Tucson, crazy night with lots of good people

Sunset in Tucson. Enjoying it from my roof after a hard day of training

Best winter job ever!!! Working and training at Hillenbrand was a perfect addition to my Arizona adventure

The view from Saguaro East, amazing 8 mile loop in the desert

Off-Road adventure with roommate Rusty, perfect start to a very cool winter.

Infamous climb, Gates Pass

Birthday beers with good friends

A New Adventure

2010-06-08T14:30:00.000-07:00

Dear all,

It has been over a month since my last post. Mirroring my current level of depression, the urge to write comes and goes. Some days I felt optimistic and hopeful. Those days have been few and far between. I couldn’t help but fall back into hold habits. Habits that I thought were long dead. It was inevitable. Take away the one thing that makes a man happy, and you will kill his spirit.

The last 8 weeks have been a roller coaster of emotion. I wish I could sit here and say that everything is alright and that I am healthy, but it is not true. The road ahead is unpaved, and I don’t know how bumpy the ride is going to be. However, I have a plan and am beyond committed to getting myself back on track.

While reflecting on this year, I can’t help but attempt to make sense of everything that happened. I have always been a firm believer that everything in my life has happened for a reason. Maybe that’s why I haven’t posted anything since my injury. While searching for answers to my own questions, it has been hard to invite everyone into my struggle. Well, I may not have all those answers, but I’ve put a few of my thoughts to rest.

Breaking my heel was an accident. Accidents happen. I can no longer look back on that day and ask “Why me?” I can only ask “What now?”

My original plan for this year was thrown out the window the second my heel hit the ground. Racing isn’t an option. I still haven’t taken a step without the protection of a boot. Despite my efforts over the last couple months, I have lost a lot of fitness. I am still swimming very well, but my riding has suffered greatly. I can’t even speculate about my running because it may be 2 or 3 weeks before I set out the door. So without racing what can I do?

Train for Ironman! If all goes well, I will be toeing the line in Cozumel on November 28^th 2010. If everything happens for a reason, this winter pushed me towards Ironman. Hopefully, it will be the start of a long and satisfying relationship. I always thought Ironman was my future; this injury has finally forced me to accept that future.

Because of this injury, acceptance has become a new part of my life. An athletic career can end in an instant. An injury can strike at any time. I need to start dealing with the negative aspects of this lifestyle or I will never be able to enjoy the positives. Triathlon isn’t the end all be all, and if I don’t enjoy the process, the finish will never be satisfying.

So now, I’ll allow my life to revolve around the process, not the finish. With that in mind, I’ve saved up a little money cleaning pools during my 8 weeks off from training, and I intend to use it to enjoy the next 4 months.

I am leaving Tucson, Arizona and heading to Boulder, Colorado in less than 2 weeks. There, I’ll spend the rest of June and most of July crashing at my buddy’s place and riding in the mountains. My only goal will be to truly enjoy every day of training in a training paradise. From there, I will be headed back to Cleveland for a week. I know it is barely any time home, but that is just how it will work out. My flight leaves for Switzerland on August 3^rd. Once I get to Switzerland, I am dropping off my bags and catching a train to Barcelona, Spain. The goal is to ride my bike back to Switzerland by August 30^th. The trip covers around 1400km and goes from Barcelona, up the Mediterranean coast, through the south of France, into Italy, and north to

Switzerland

. I will have to average around 60 km a day for 25 days (and I won’t be riding every day), so I’ll get plenty of riding during the month of August. Once back in Switzerland, I will be setting up camp at the Swiss Olympic Training Center. I’ll have 2 months of dedicated Ironman training in the French Alps. I’ll return to Tucson on Oct 25^th for a couple weeks of training and a long taper. John Kulbis will be joining be in Tucson, so this next winter will definitely be a great one.

The next four months are going to be absolutely hectic. I’ll be living out of a suitcase or out of a saddle bag for a long time. My plan is to work hard, train hard, enjoy EVERY single day, and truly make 24 the best year of my entire life. As for Ironman, you all know that I won’t take that too lightly. But, with the right attitude and some hard work, I’ll be sure to toe that line in the best shape of my life.

I know I have been REALLY bad at updating this blog lately, but keep checking it. From now until Ironman, I will be updating it every week. And once I get to Europe, I’ll be posting pictures and stories about my travels every time I find internet connection.

Here’s to one real adventure… triathlon style.

Welcome to my Life

2010-04-27T18:58:00.000-07:00

I find myself tossing around, yet immersed in deep sleep. The earsplitting alarm rings only slightly in my dream. It has yet to wake me. Like most weeks, my body has endured hours of stress in the form of training. It is starving for rest as a result. Half awake, I roll over while placing two fingers on my neck… 52 beats. Every action in the life of an endurance athlete is calculated. A normal heart rate is an invitation to force my tired body out of bed. Any irregularity warrants a decision. Rest or continue to push the limits of the human body. Today, my body grants me the opportunity to rise. The first few steps every morning are the most difficult. Many miles of pounding cause my feet, ankles, and knees to ache. I slowly limp across my bedroom floor. My aches subside before my morning dose of caffeine reaches my brain. Another day with its own set of challenges awaits. I am the only person responsible for meeting those challenges. I must proceed with an open heart. This is the life that I chose for myself.

Irrational thoughts are common place to a struggling endurance athlete. Keeping myself sane is always a priority. My daily life is spent inside of my own head. I listen to the water moving across my body. I listen to the road slipping away from my tires. I listen to the breathe escaping my lungs. I continually listen to my body, but I reject any thought of weakness. Hours upon hours of my day are spent in solitude. Luckily, I only answer to myself.

Self improvement is my motivation. My only concern is proving to myself, and only myself, that I have something special deep inside me. I will spend my life pursuing a moment in time. My biggest fear being that I miss that moment. I work for the future while I live in the present. I embrace, yet forget, the past. I am my own driving force. I swim. I ride. I run.

The Day I Became a Runner

2010-04-10T12:22:00.000-07:00

I hadn’t been in the sport long. A year prior, I borrowed and laced up an old pair of my roommates Asics for the first time. Life was more complicated then, but it was still love at first stride. I had been working late nights at the pizza shop for some time. The late shift was a tough one. I’d knock out my evening run with enough time to shower and walk up Coventry to Guys Pizza. Most nights we worked until 3am… Our product was a commodity. Crappy pizza laced with sugar for the drunken college students stumbling home. I was also a college student at the time; however, I happened to be less drunk and much busier than most people my age.

My urge to run was growing by the day, but I wasn’t a runner… My place in the world was not yet established. There are many opinions on what makes a person a “real” runner. I’ve heard people say that you aren’t a real runner until you qualify for Boston. Everyone has an opinion. Most “real” runners will share there opinion in a heart beat. It’s all bullshit. Every person that runs remembers the day that they became a runner. Chances are it wasn’t the first time you laced up those shoes, but I bet you remember it as the day that changed your life for good… I remember that day.

It had been months since I sold an $8 pizza. I had been working at Second Sole on the east side of Cleveland. In October, I had run the Columbus Marathon in well under 3 hours. That was a special day, but it wasn’t the day I became a runner.

It was a cool, dark Friday evening in early November. The last customer was slowly wandering out of the shop. Scott Gill, an older, well respected local runner, was putting away a few pairs of shoes that had been disregarded during the evening rush. I had just finished vacuuming under the shoe wall. He turned to me and asked me the question I had been waiting months to here. “You got your running gear with you tonight.” It took a sub 3 hour effort in Columbus to finally be invited to the Friday evening run.

Prior to that night, I had heard many stories about the Friday night loop. It was a Second Sole tradition for many years. That night I ran out the front door alongside Eddy Hoffmeier and Scott Gill. I looked up to those guys a lot back then. They were strong runners, accomplished runners. Their daily stories about running and life had shaped me as a young athlete.

We took a quick left out of the parking lot. My stride was strong and my step was bouncy. It was easy to find a rhythm. As we ran through the dark, we chatted as if the 6:30 pace wasn’t the least bit tiring. I had heard about this run enough to know when I should be concerned about pushing myself. I sat back behind them, took a deep breath, and tried to enjoy the evening.

The road tilts upward a quarter mile before Cedar Road. We leaned into the hill and ran as if the steeper grade was imaginary. Our pace never changed. A hard left on Cedar and a slight downhill was the cure for my labored breathing. I knew Scott was testing me. We had talked enough about running in the last few months. He wanted to see what I had in me. I didn’t realize it until 3 miles into the 5 mile loop. This was my rite of passage.

We made another left. We ran towards a dark neighborhood, the pace dropped. Scott pulled to the front and started to push. A quick turn of the head noticed Eddy fade back into the night. This was between the two of us. For the first time in my entire life, I experienced what it was like to stick to someone. My eyes fixed between his shoulder blades. I imagined that we were connected. He dragged me through the dark neighborhood as if we were one.

I could see the glow of Mayfield Road in the distance. The road was tilting upwards once again; however, it was the last hill. I knew once we made that left on Mayfield, it was one hard downhill mile until the finish. For the first time all night, I ran alongside Scott as if to say “Tonight, you’re my equal.” I leaned forward and pushed into the hill. I wanted to break him. I noticed Scott pull in behind me. I felt the adrenaline fly into my body. It was finally my turn.

As Scott hung on my feet, I exploded down the street. Each step pushed him farther back. He popped and I exploded down the sidewalk pushing myself to my anaerobic limit. The memory of this run is a special one. In my memory, my feet are barely bouncing off the ground. I feel as if I could run hard for an eternity. Flying through the night as free as I’ll ever be… Not a care in the world… My perfect run. The memory of this run will never fade. It was the day I became a runner.

How Life Happens

2010-04-03T21:13:00.000-07:00

Some days I feel like I have managed to pack a lifetime in less than 24 years. Maybe it’s my tendency to live life to one extreme or another. I don’t know. It may just be growing up, but I always find myself wondering how I ended up where I am. It’s 8:15pm on a Saturday night. My roommates are gone for the holiday weekend, so the house is quiet. It almost feels too quiet for a Saturday evening. I spent so many years of my life living a certain way. This lifestyle still feels fairly strange. I know my body needs rest from the last 13 days of training. My calves are still sore from Thursday’s track session, and my body is tired from today’s 70 miles of tempo riding. Deep down, I know that it is important to spend the evening recovering. But, it is hard to keep my mind from wandering. Even though tomorrow is Easter Sunday, I’ll have to bring my A game for one more workout. The plan is to meet Tollakson and McGlone for a 16 miler with 4 x 2mile at tempo pace. Strangely, triathlon is the farthest thing from my mind tonight.

Tonight, I think about how I ended up here… how I ended up pursuing triathlon… Sometimes I think about how I could have picked any life… why this one?

It didn’t take long until I was hooked. From the day I picked up a pair of running shoes, my life was different. I remember the first day I ran… really ran. I was 20 years old and had just returned from a summer on the road. I had just finished 8 weeks touring the US with Chaotic Alliance. Thinking back, it is no wonder I wanted to run. I had been sitting in a hot van for 2 months. I borrowed my roommates running shoes. They were 2 sizes too big. It was the freest I had felt the entire summer. But why did I lace those shoes up for the first time? If I hadn’t had that roommate, would I ever have run out that door?

I wasn’t even supposed to live with Brendan Barton. After a year at Case Western and way too many troublesome instances in student housing, a few of us were “kindly” asked to find a new place to live. Jim Dahlberg, Steve Chang and I were glad to find ourselves an apartment in the neighboring community of Little Italy. However, as it were to work out, I only lived there for five short weeks. One night, I was socializing at a local watering hole full of college students. Without going into too many details, words were exchanged and a much younger, less responsible AJ may have lost his temper. Unfortunately, I was with two girls and they were with many, many other guys. To avoid an unfavorable altercation, I skipped out the back door and ran home… I was followed. As I sat at my kitchen table, there was a knock at the door. The next 5 minutes were in slow motion. Three guys broke into my house and confronted me in my kitchen. I reacted as if my life was on the line… it may have been. I spent that night in the hospital.

Three days later, I left town for tour. A day after that, I was officially evicted. On a side note, it was hard to come to peace with that evening. I spent a year thinking about my revenge. It took a changed person to forgive and forget. Steve and Jim ended up living together without me. I found a new roommate when I returned to Cleveland 2 months later. It just so happened to be triathlete and aspiring Ironman, Brendan Barton. His influence would change my life.

Everyone has a story on how they got into the sport. Mine just so happens to entail an unfair fight, a summer on the road, and a new roommate.

Cheers everyone.

Finally Hitting a Rhythm

2010-03-26T19:09:00.000-07:00

Ever since the training kicked back up, my free time has been compromised. I definitively have not updated this blog as much as I intended to. Now that I am about to start the racing season, I am going to try to update this blog once a week.

A few days after my hard ride up Madera Canyon, I found myself physically and mentally drained. That ride was a culmination of three very difficult weeks of training. Last week was an overdue recovery week. I always find it very difficult to find motivation during a recovery week. My experience in this sport has taught me that rest is more important than any amount of training. Therefore, it was easy for me to talk myself out of several workouts last week. By the end of the week, I swam around 14k, rode under 100 miles, and ran 15 miles. I felt like I had taken the entire week off. This mileage may seem low, but after riding over 650 miles in my last three week training block, I needed a little time off my bike. By Monday of this week, I was ready to start hammering away at the miles.

On Monday, I headed out for my usual long ride. Big Mondays have quickly become one of my favorite workouts of the week. Not only are these rides long, I have been doing them all by myself on my TT bike. This was my third and longest Big Monday. I set out as soon as the sun started getting hot… blue sky, sunny, and 80 degrees. It was the perfect day for a long ride. Katie Arnold was still in town from Columbus, so I rode the first hour with her. I wish I would have been able to ride with her more while she was here. She is one of the toughest (and coolest) people I’ve ever met. I can’t wait to see how fast she is this year. After sending Katie back towards Tucson, I headed towards Sonoita, a small town 55 miles south of Tucson at 5,000ft above sea level. After 30 miles, the road quickly turns upward. The road was quiet and the sun was beating down, but I felt very comfortable as I traveled farther and farther from home. My heart rate climbed as I hit a steep section… all I could think about was how I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the entire world. After reaching 5,200ft, the max elevation of the ride, I descended into Sonoita. As I passed through Border Control, I realized how close I was to the border. The climb out of Sonoita ended up being the toughest part of the ride. I had a strong headwind and was already 60 miles into the ride. After reaching 5,200ft again, I started the long descent home. I quickly realized that this ride was going to take a little longer than anticipated. The headwind was getting stronger and I knew that I would have it for the next 30 miles. After 5+ hours of riding, I made it back home. I ended up riding around 105 miles with over 4,000ft of climbing. My body was noticeably fatigued, but my legs still felt strong. That was a good sign. This was my first solo century, and it was a fairly easy afternoon in the saddle.

I wanted to shrug off my alarm clock the next morning, but I had already told TJ Tollakson that I’d meet him for intervals on the Santa Cruz trail. I dragged myself out of bed and put my runners on. I wished I had slept more. I met TJ around 8am for 4 x 2miles at tempo pace. I always hated 2 mile repeats because they last forever. However, if you want to gain some mental toughness, this length is perfect. The workout was tough, but I was able to hold my own. We were running well under 6 minute pace for the entire workout. TJ dropped the pace for the last interval. I tried to gut it out, but he ended up getting away from me. It was the first hard run of the year, and it was great to do it all on tired legs. I went home, ate and then went right to bed. I slept for 4 more hours, it wasn’t enough.

After Mondays ride, I was having trouble recovering. I woke up Wednesday even more tired. I reminded myself that after today’s hard effort, I could take two days easier. I met Tollakson again, but this time we were doing long intervals on our TT bikes. We headed over Gates Pass towards McCain Loop, a rolling 7 mile looped course. The workout was 3 loops at tempo pace. We rocked the first one under 17 minutes. I noticed my legs were already spent. It was hard to generate enough power to stick with TJ. The next two loops were tough, but I stuck them out and finished the workout. After my “cool down,” which involved climbing back over Gates Pass, I ran 20 minutes building to half Ironman race pace.

So far this week is going really well. After today, I am starting to feel somewhat recovered. Hopefully this weekend goes as planned and I keep the mileage high. I should be over 250 miles on the bike this week, which is finally the mileage that I want to be at.

In other news, I got my 2010 race kit today!!! Thanks to Saucony for all the new gear. I can’t wait to debut it at Rage Triathlon in Las Vegas on April 17^th.

Cheers from Tucson.

Madera Canyon

2010-03-14T09:27:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the culmination of three hard weeks of training. Last night proved to be a tough night for me. I could feel the mileage in my legs and back. My body was restless and I was just praying for a decent nights sleep. I had made the trek up through Madera Canyon. This proved to be one of the most challenging climbs in all of Tucson. It starts out with 8 miles at 3-4% grade. Miles 8-11 sees grades between 6% and 10%, and miles 11-13 is well above a 15% grade. The very top is 22% to the turn around. For Saturday’s ride, I decided on an 80 mile out and back with the top of Madera Canyon being my turn around point. Since I decided that sleep was more important than this weeks Shootout, I decided to ride the majority of the 80 miles at a mid - high aerobic heart rate.

The route to Madera takes you straight south on Nogales Hwy. The road is fairly smooth, flat and it goes for a long time… perfect conditions for tempo riding on the TT bike. Since I haven’t been riding the TT bike enough, I decided to bust it out for this longer ride. Heading south on Nogales, I had a light headwind. I welcomed the wind because I knew I would fly on the way home. As my heart rate averaged out around 150bpm, I found myself flying towards Madera into the wind. I tried to remind myself about the climb ahead of me. Ever since I turned onto Nogales Hwy, I could see Madera Canyon in the distance. It was amazing looking up at a snow covered mountain 40 miles away while telling myself, “I’ll be at the top of that in a couple hours.”

Slowly, the mountain in the distance became closer and closer. I made the turn onto Whitehouse Canyon Road. The road slightly tilted upward. My heart rate crept up in coordination with the roads. The climb starts at about 2,800ft and tops out at 4,600ft. The first 8 miles were fairly easy, but I knew the worst was to come. Once I reached mile 11, I was ready for the climb to be over. I was already standing and my heart rate was through the roof. Even though I was sucking wind, it was hard not to notice the beautiful landscape on the top of Madera Canyon… thick forest, streams, and snow. I particularly like the signs that remind hikers that this is bear country. Bears were the last thing I wanted to see when I was this tired.

The descent was well worth the climb. Once through the steep section, the road opens up and top speeds can easily be reached. Half way down the mountain, I reached my top speed, 46 mph. It was amazing seeing the entire city of Tucson from the top of this mountain. The only thing that kept me from admiring the view was the thought of falling of my bike at 40mph. I concentrated on the descent.

Once back heading north on Nogales Hwy, I was really able to get into a strong tempo. The wind was slightly at my back, the road was flat, and my legs were already very warmed up. My heart rate was slightly higher, around 155bpm, while I cruised back into town at 25-27mph. Once back into town, the wind stopped helping me, and I settled into a slightly slower pace. My legs were heavy from the climb, but I was happy to have been able to ride hard for the last 3 hours. Overall, I ended up doing around 82 miles in well under 4 hours. The ride had about 2,600ft of total climbing. After the ride, I ran a nice tempo around the U of A campus. I didn’t reach the pace I intended to, but I was satisfied to be working hard. I finished the day’s workout by collapsing into a grassy (dead grassy) area outside of Hillenbrand Pool. I spent a few minutes sucking wind and starring into the sky. It was all about recovery now… I chocked down a protein bar and a recovery drink while I soaked in an ice bath. I followed it by a quick dip in the Jacuzzi. Then, I headed over to Jimmy Johns for a Beach Club with bacon and hot peppers. It wasn’t enough. An hour later, I went to La Salsa for a Three-Pepper Fajita Burrito and a few small bags of chips. I spent the rest of the evening stretching, drinking water, and hoping for a good nights sleep.

8 Weeks in Arizona

2010-02-28T10:48:00.000-08:00

It’s been some time now since I have been gone. The last eight weeks feel more like eight months. New friends have come and gone. Training has been good and bad. But all in all, Arizona has treated me well so far. I am starting to feel like it is a second home. Now that I am finally “settled,” I am really looking forward to the next few months here.

When arriving here on January 2^nd, I didn’t know a single person in this entire city. Everything was difficult at first. I needed time to get to known this new city. Training was good, but it was hard not to overdo it (I ended up riding over 500 miles in the first two weeks). I was lucky enough to make a few friends here pretty fast. I did a good deal of swim and bike training with Doug Fahlbush in the first 3 weeks. He was an ex collegiate swimmer and pro downhill rider. It was nice to have someone pushing me in the pool every afternoon. Shortly after meeting Doug, I ended up meeting Ethan Brown and Doug Maclean. Hanging out with these guys has been way too much fun. If it wasn’t for them, I probably would have gone crazy during the 3 weeks I was injured from a mountain biking crash. Doug Maclean is a sick long course triathlete getting ready to race Kona this year. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him finishing towards the top of the amateur field. Ethan Brown is on the USAT 2012 National Team. Look out for this kid making the next Olympic Triathlon team. On a side note, be careful if you ever beat Ethan at something (like at a pool game). He’ll make sure to beat you the next ten times while reminding you that he is a 2-time National Champion. It has been fun kicking it with these kids, it is a shame that they are leaving town this Monday.

After getting injured in my 4^th week here, training took a different turn. I was unable to bike and run for about 3 weeks. In that time, I went back to my normal winter swimming. I spent my time swimming once or twice a day. That little bit of training, along with a few late nights with Doug and Ethan, kept me pretty sane. Those few weeks dragged by but lately I have been feeling near 100% again.

Recently, I just finished my first real week of training since the crash. My mileage has been fairly low, but it is nice to be training again. This week I did about 16,000yds swimming, 200 miles riding, and 21 miles running. I am about to start a two week training block that should get me back towards some type of fitness. Besides training, I finally started working out here. I work about 25 hours a week at Hillenbrand Aquatic Center and a few hours a week of tutoring. I have definitively stumbled upon the two best jobs I have ever had. Working at the pool is incredibly laid back and relaxing. We do some manual labor, but it is more like hanging out with some friends for a few hours under the sun. I am not making an incredible amount of money right now, but I have an income and life is simple as shit right now. Here is an example of my day.

Wake Up. Drink Coffee. Eat. Do a long ride on bike. Eat. Go to “work.” Stand around and hose deck. Watch pro triathletes and Olympic swimmers do their workouts. Eat. Swim Masters. Eat. Watch TV. Sleep.

It is pretty nice having zero responsibilities. It makes sleeping at night much easier.

**When I read this in ten years, I am going to hate 23 year old AJ**

Cheers.

Getting Through Another Rough Patch

2010-02-20T09:30:00.000-08:00

Since my triathlon debut in the summer 2007, I have come to terms with the fact that injury happens in our sport. In the beginning, my biggest worries were tight IT bands. Thinking back, getting over that first IT "injury" was incredibly difficult. I didn't know my body well enough and I had no clue how to bounce back. During those first two seasons, my body didn't understand what I was putting it through. I had a few minor setbacks, but triathlon was just a hobby back then and any injury could be cured with a week on the couch. Now, a week on the coach seems like an eternity, and it is hard to have the patience to get over the little bumps in the road.

During my third season, I had to get through a string of incredibly annoying injuries. I had just begun training under the guidance of Jim LaMastra. Because I was young and strong, he gave me workouts that were depending without a great deal of recovery. Any other accomplished athlete in his or her early twenties may have handled the training better. But even in my third season, I was incredibly new to the sport. The amount of training in my body could have been compared to that of a high school runner, not an elite athlete. In early 2009, I developed two overuse injuries in my legs. They were back to back, and they had me barely training for about 3 weeks. One week back from those injuries, I got hit by a car and missed another week or two. It was a rough start to a pretty rough season.

The start of this 2010 season has been similar. I built my base with a great deal of swimming in Cleveland. My body was ready for the long miles to come. I logged about 700 miles in the first few weeks in Arizona. My body was handling the distance well and I was starting to come into decent form. A day later, I was crashing on a mountain bike. It has been almost 4 weeks since I crashed.

I’m finally getting over this knee injury. I am hoping to be back to normal training by March. I am sure that I lost a little strength in my legs, but my aerobic capacity is very strong from the 80 kilometers I swam since the crash. I feel as if my swim fitness is the best it has ever been. Here is an example of a few distance workouts I have done in the last couple weeks.

Workout: 10 x 200 on 2:40 (held 2:25 for all)

Workout: 400, 200, 100, 100, 200, 400 (on 1:20 per 100), 3 x 200 on 2:40, 12 x 100 pull on 1:20

Workout: 10 x 100 on 1:20 (descend 1-5, 5-10), 5 x 200 on 2:40

Like always, my cycling and running fitness will come together and I will be race ready. Without set backs, there would be no such thing as a come back.

Cheers.

Thoughts on Life and Setbacks

2010-02-08T16:13:00.000-08:00

This sport is cruel every once in awhile. Of course life happens, and there are countless numbers of circumstances that can keep an athlete from progressing, mentally and physically. When any circumstance keeps an athlete from doing his (or her) trade, there is commonly a feeling of anxiety. Occasionally, I feel like I am lost in my own nightmare. It is the reoccurring dream where everyone is moving forward, but for some reason, I am unable to move. With every amount of energy, I try to escape. But, in this dream, I’m never able to go anywhere. When my life feels as if I’m restrained by chains, it is hard to break free. Running, like cycling and swimming, often provides me with the means to break free. So going through a period without training is like never waking up from that reoccurring nightmare. An athlete, like any other person, wants to feel as if they are always progressing. But in life, can we always be moving forward? Is it true what some say, “if you’re not moving forward, you’re going backward?"

Experiencing life through sport, the good and the bad, requires us to develop. Experience is everything. Training is teaching our bodies to learn from experience. Pain is our bodies informing us that we haven’t experienced this feeling enough. I once had a friend who thought she could teach herself to transcend pain. By accepting the inevitability of pain, she thought her embrace would help her ignore the pain settling into her body during stressful training. I doubt she completely succeeded, but mentally, maybe she was able to learn to experience just a little bit more.

To me, every bump in the road, every experience, helps me move forward. Maybe an inability to train normally seems like it is pulling you backward. But in reality, it is the one thing helping you move forward. Every athlete goes through rough patches, some more than others. I believe it is the ability to turn a bad situation into a good one that makes a good athlete a great athlete. This type of recognition did not happen naturally. It has taken countless setbacks before this reality became mine. Setbacks are a part of life. It is how a person deals with these setbacks that will define them as humans.

Like that reoccurring nightmare, injury makes me feel an inability to break free. It makes me feel like I am moving backwards, not forwards. But accepting that this experience will make me more resilient… That is the key to progression, and with progression comes transcendence. This life requires patience, and sometimes there is nothing we can do but wait.

2010 Race Schedule

2010-02-01T17:20:00.000-08:00

I finally decided on a 2010 race schedule. This year will be exciting because it will be my first season racing Iron distance triathlons. I really think that this schedule will work well for me, and I am hoping that racing less will allow me to perform at a higher level.

If any one is planning on doing any of these races, let me know. It is always nice to have company when knocking back that post race beer.

February 28^th – Desert Duathlon in Phoenix, Arizona

March 28^th – Arizona Distance Classic (Half Marathon) in Tucson, Arizona

April 17^th – Rage Triathlon (Half Ironman) in Las Vegas, Nevada

May 9^th – Rev 3 Knoxville (Olympic) in Knoxville, Tennessee

June 6^th – Rev 3 Quassy (Half Ironman) in Middlebury, Connecticut

August 1^st – ITU Long Course Worlds (4k, 120k, 30k) in Immenstadt, Germany

September 12^th – Rev 3 Cedar Point (Ironman) in Sandusky, Ohio

I may consider doing one or two more late season races depending on how well I do during the summer. I can’t wait to race this season! I hope everyone is ready for 2010.

See you at the races. Cheers!

Collection of Trainer Workouts

2010-01-28T09:53:00.000-08:00

Lately, we have been getting a ton of rain in Tucson. The problem with rain in Tucson is when it rains, it floods. With the onslaught of nasty weather, I have been forced to do a couple trainer sessions. This got me thinking... I need to share some of the good trainer workouts that I picked up for LaMastra, Reddy, and other Cleveland boys. A few of these workouts have my own twist, but they all break up the monotony of an indoor session. Enjoy.

KEY

WU - Warm up

CD - Cool down

AR - Active recovery (easy spinning)

rpm - revolutions per minute

HR 1 - Recovery pace

HR 2 - Easy to mid aerobic pace

HR 3 - High aerobic to low anaerobic pace

HR 4 - Anaerobic to maximum pace

ROLLER COASTER INTERVALS

WU, 9/6/3/6/9/6/3 with half of interval for AR (9 min was @ Half IM pace, 6 min was @ Olympic pace, 3 min was @ Sprint pace), CD

LADDER INTERVALS

WU, 12/6/3 (HR 2 low, HR 2 mid, HR 2 high), 10/5/2.5 (HR 2 mid, HR 2 high, HR 3 low), 8/4/2 (HR 2 high, HR 3 low, HR 3 mid), 6/3/1.5 (HR 3 low, HR 3 mid, HR 3 high), 4/2/1 (HR 3 mid, HR 3 high, ALL OUT), CD

**THIS IS AN AWESOME BUT TOUGH WORKOUT, GOOD FOR A LONGER RIDE**

DESCENDING TIME INTERVALS

WU, 3 x 5/4/3/2/1, 1st set @ HR 2 LOW, 2nd set @ HR 2 MID, 3rd set @ HR 2 HIGH, CD

EVEN INTERVALS

WU, 4 x 4min (HR 2 low/HR 2 high/HR 3 low/HR 3 high) with 6min between each set, CD

**THIS IS MORE OF A RECOVERY WEEK SET**

ASCENDING HEART RATE INTERVALS

WU, 5 x 3min @ HR 2 high, 3 x 5min @ HR 3 low, 3 x 3min @ HR 3 mid, 3 x 2min @ HR 3 high, 3 x 1min HR 4, CD

**CAREFUL ON THE 3 x 1min INTERVALS, THEY ARE ALL OUT**

CADENCE LADDER

WU, 5 x {1min right leg, 1min left leg, 1min together}

Put in very easy gear and do the following (do NOT change gears)

:05 @ 120rpm :55 AR

:10 @ 120rpm :50 AR

:15 @ 120rpm :45 AR

:55 @ 120rpm :05 AR

:50 @ 120rpm :10 AR

:05 @ 120rpm :55 AR

3 x {1min right leg, 1min left leg, 1min together}, CD

**THE INTERVALS CAN GET VERY HARD AT THE TOP OF THE LADDER. MAKE SURE YOU ARE IN EASY GEAR**

I hope everyone enjoys some of these workouts. My favorites are the Cadence Ladder and the Ladder Intervals.

Cheers for Tucson.

Searching for Strength

2010-01-23T08:50:00.000-08:00

It’s been almost 3 years since I began writing about triathlon. Originally, I wanted to write about each race as a way to chronicle my growth as an athlete. My writing wasn’t thought out, but it was passionate. If you go all the way back to my first few posts, you can feel my pain and glory. I wrote for myself. I never had any intention of letting anyone else read my thoughts about life or triathlon. Well, things change over time. There are several individuals that made me the athlete I am today. It was their advice, guidance, and encouragement that formed me. In time, I have realized that everyone is shaped by their surroundings, and it is your peers that help make you who you’re supposed to be. Without a few people, I wouldn’t be in Tucson right now. I wouldn’t be chasing my dreams, and I wouldn’t be writing this.

Deer Creek 2007 - first triathlon ever.

Life was much different when I did my first triathlon. It was almost 3 years ago. My roommate at the time, Brendan Barton, went to Columbus with me for the race. He was the person who introduced me to everything triathlon. He was one of the people who helped make me who I am. Thinking back, if it wasn’t for his guidance, I wouldn’t have even made it in the water that morning. I was messing around in transition without my body marked 5 minutes from the start of my wave. I had no clue what I was doing. I think back on that day without any hesitation. It was a turning point in my life. After the race, I was hobbling back to the car with Brendan at my side. He told me something I will never forget. He said “AJ, I swear to god. If this was just a one time thing, I will never talk to you again.” He was the first person to ever make me think that I had potential as an athlete. He was the first person who thought that I could go somewhere special in triathlon. Even I thought he was crazy when he said it, but his words have come back to me countless times during training and racing. All it takes is one person to believe in someone. I like to think that I had some type of impact on his first Ironman. I like to think that he drew strength from me at some point that day. Regardless, as athletes we are constantly looking somewhere, anywhere, for strength. Once you find that source, you’re golden.

So maybe that is why I started writing about triathlon. Maybe it is a way for me to reflect on my life and, once again, gather strength from the people that originally influenced me. Maybe it is a way for me to influence others and provide them with strength. I have an eternal dept to this sport. I’ll never hesitate to give back to it. The kindnesses of others have shaped me as an athlete. I look forward to the day that I can be as influential as the people that helped me.

This week hasn’t been a good one. But again, it has been the people around me who have made it better. Earlier in the week, I got side swiped by an idiot driver. I later realized that my shifting was all tweaked. One of the guys from swim practice, an unemployed bike mechanic, came over and fixed my bike up. His simple generosity went a long way. Today, I flatted 10 miles from home. My spare was leaking and I don’t know anyone’s number in this whole city. It didn’t take long for a random guy to pull over and offer me a ride back

home.

This week’s circumstances have made me really think. The old saying is true. What goes around comes around. Don’t be afraid to help others. Believe in your friends and tell them so. Your encouragement goes a long way. At the end of the day, your friends will be the ones telling your story, and we all want to be remembered the right way.

Cheers everyone.

Long Straightaways, Headwinds, and Shitty Drivers

2010-01-17T10:45:00.000-08:00

Yesterdays long ride seemed to never end. It was one of those rides where each mile clicks away a little slower than the next. Even though I dread these days, they are perfect for building mental strength if you tough them out... as long as you don't heave yourself in front of an approaching vehicle... I may have done both.

The fatigue of training started to slowly seep in this week. After climbing Mt. Lemmon, all of my workouts seemed a bit labored. It would take a long time to get warmed up and each workout was a little tougher than the last. After riding just under 300 miles in the first 7 days here, my body was starting to slow down. I've been sleeping more than ever, and I've been eating everything in site. I figured if I could get through this weekend, I'd take an easy recovery week.

We planned Saturday's ride to be long and flat. After climbing 6,400ft (more than a vertical mile) on Tuesday and Thursday's out and back over Gates Pass, my climbing muscles were pretty spent. Instead of heading out for another solo ride, I road with a semi pro downhiller and mountain biker. He was a strong rider and made this effort a little less suicidal.

We headed out on Old Spanish Trial, a very rolling road that heads south east of Tucson. After a quick climb up Pistol Hill, we headed due south on Houghton Rd. That's when the fun and pain really started. We were only 25 miles into the 75 mile ride, and my legs were already toast. Houghton Road was a 9 miles false flat into a brutal headwind. The mountains in the distance were our destination, but they never seemed to get any closer. By the time we hit E Sahuarita Rd, I needed a little liquid energy. My usual bonk killer, Red Bull was substituted for BAWLS... seemed like cocaine in a soda can. The next 11 miles to Nogales Hwy, were equally as brutal. We had a decent downhill but the headwind was incredibly strong. We got into a really good rhythm, taking several minute 25mph pulls... the wind was relentless. This ride couldn't be over soon enough. Eventually, my sugar/caffeine buzz wasted away and I was near bonk again. The jelly beans and snickers bar I had stashed away helped for awhile. The last straightaway into town was equally as long, boring and brutal as the rest. The wind wasn't as strong, but we never got that tailwind.

After 68 miles of torture, I stopped at an intersection on Broadway... there was a red mini van to my left. The light changed and we both started pulling away. The lady driver sped in front of me by 15 ft, then made an immediate right into the gas station. I slammed on my brakes but this collision was inevitable. I crashed into the side of her car like a hockey player bouncing off the glass. She slammed on her brakes and I took off her mirror with my shoulder. This lady may have been the worst driver of all time. She freaked out because she thought she killed me... I didn't even fall down. My first reaction was to freak out on her, but she was so apologetic and scared that I had to calm her down. I was fine and there was no damage... except for her missing mirror and scratched up car. The next 7 miles home were a little more cautious. Drivers need to get there heads out of there asses... and stop texting while driving!!! Maybe next time, I'll take the bike path the long way home.

This ride was seriously tough. I recovered with an entire pizza and a nice tall soda. That evenings ice bath was the highlight. A few beers and some lounging around followed. A couple hours later, I couldn't help but take a run to Subway... I was already starving again.

Since I've been here I've ridden about 550 miles, ran 55 miles and knocked out 30,000 yards in the pool. Everything is aerobic, but I still need a little rest before I can get into any real mileage. Life is simple right now, and I am loving it. Money is tight, but I haven't spent much in the last two weeks. I've used a quarter tank of gas, and have only been out one night. Eat, sleep, train... repeat.

Cheers!

Climbing Mt. Lemmon

2010-01-13T08:53:00.000-08:00

The 25 mile climb to SummerHaven was worth it. Look at that cookie!

I always considered myself a good climber, but I was never really certain. When it came to climbing roads in Cleveland, like Old Mill Road, I loved how easily I could go uphill. With that being said, I had no idea how 25 miles of sustained climbing would treat me... and then there was the altitude. I wasn't sure what I was in for.

I was lucky enough to have DJ Snyder in town from Houston for this workout. He was 4th M20-24 in Kona last year... he's the real deal. Climbing is much more enjoyable in the company of a good buddy. As we began the climb, I told DJ that my body has never been above 5000ft, except for in an airplane. He thought I would be in trouble once we hit 6000ft. SummerHaven, our turn around point, was a quick descent into the mountain after hitting 8300ft.

We started climbing and quickly found a good rhythm. The early miles seemed to fly by. I was so excited to finally climb Mt. Lemmon! The first several miles are some of the steepest with grades hitting above 8% consistently. I tried to relax as best as I could because I wanted to save my energy for higher elevation. After about 6 miles, I started feeling really good. We started to pick up the pace a little. In the first hour, we had climbed well past the 11 mile mark. I was very surprised at our pace up this mountain. We were now at about 5000ft above sea level, and I was patiently waiting to start sucking air.

Mile 15 - one and only break to put on arm warmers and a jacket

Right after we hit 5000ft, the terrain began to change dramatically. The desert landscape was replaced by forest. We were seeing evergreens, streams, and even a tiny bit of snow on the rocks. We kept the same pace up for the next several miles. We went through Windy Point and I was starting to wonder when the altitude would hit me. I still felt incredibly strong. The views from mile 14 - 16 are incredible...

After mile 17, it started to get a little chilly. However, the only sign of high altitude was the cold temperatures. My body still felt really good, and I actually started climbing a little better towards the top. Again, we started to pick up the pace as we were enjoying some breathtaking views. At mile 21, we started to get excited. It was only one more mile before we began the small descent into SummerHaven. For the record, a few miles downhill at 8000ft above sea is exactly like riding in Cleveland in the winter. My toes, fingers and legs were numb. Once in SummerHaven, we went directly to the Cookie Cabin. There cookies were amazing, but I was more concerned with how awesome the fireplace felt on my cold limbs. We climbed 25 miles and 6400ft in 2:05... We thought we took it pretty conservatively too.

Getting back on the bikes with a pound of cookie dough in my throat was the hardest part. I finally started to feel the altitude. We had to climb 3 really tough miles out of SummerHaven, and the 40 degree weather didn't make it any easier. Luckily, the lady at the Cookie Cabin gave up some pizza boxes so we could stuff them in our jerseys for some insulation. Once reaching 8300ft again. It was finally time to descent! We had to be cautious for the first few miles because of all the snow and ice. There was almost a foot of snow in SummerHaven!

The descent was incredible to say the least. I threw my bike in the largest gear and started hammering downhill. I didn't touch the breaks for the first 8 miles. Right around mile 16, we were ripping down the mountain at 40+ with nothing but a straight drop to the desert floor to our left. It was incredible. The whole descent was the most exhilarating thing I had ever done in my life. This mountain was made for the descent... the courageous could bomb the whole thing without touching the brakes... maybe next time for me. We ended up finishing the 55 mile ride in just under 3.5 hours. The top speed on the descent was about 43mph.

For those people thinking about visiting me from Cleveland, you better start doing some hill intervals on your trainer because we are going right up that mountain. Be ready for the ride of you damn life.

Cheers.

1st BIG Saturday

2010-01-11T13:30:00.000-08:00

On Saturday, I had been in Tucson for exactly one week. I had already logged 229 miles on the bike, and I was still planning on knocking out one more decently long ride. So far, the miles have treated me very well. The last time I cycled over 230 miles in a week, I was training in Lake Placid with peak fitness. Currently, I am really far from any fitness; however, the miles are flowing easily. All of my training has been very aerobic and easy, with the exception of a couple of hard pool sessions a week. I am really surprised on how easy it has been to put in the miles out here. The large variety of terrain and perfect weather makes training much easier. With that being said, I felt great on Saturday morning so I planned a pretty challenging 65 mile loop for my first longer ride.

I started the ride from my house at about 2400ft above sea level. It took about 15 minutes to get out of the city limits, but I was soon flying towards Mt. Lemmon on Kolb Rd. As I approached the foothills of Lemmon, the road turned upward. Even though I was only 25 minutes into the ride, I was already climbing a nice grade. Kolb Rd loops right at the base of Lemmon. The gradient was never too steep but it was a solid 20 minute climb before I started descending towards Sunrise. Even though the climb only reached about 3200ft above sea level, the view of Tucson is incredible. You can see the entire city with more mountains as the backdrop. From this elevation, I could see Gates Pass hovering over the Southwest part of the city. It wouldn’t be a couple hours until I got there, but I would have to save a little bit of energy.

The descent to Picture Rocks in long and fast! The road out west is about 10 miles long, but it was a gradual downhill the whole way. I was cruising at 26-32mph for most of the way. Once onto Picture Rocks, the road tilted upward again. This was a pretty short climb, no longer than Old Mill Road in Cleveland, but it reached a really steep gradient at the top. Once over Picture Rocks, the road was very rolling for the next 15 miles. About 50 miles into the ride, I started approaching Gates Pass from the backside (the tough side). I was already starting to get a little tired, but I would need to wake up if I was going to make it over.

Gates Pass rolls up and over this mountain.

The climb is about 3 miles in length from the bottom, but only the top sees really steep gradients. The first mile is very gradual. I started climbing the 4-6% grade rather easily. Once I reached the middle, the grade was 9-10% and I had to stand up. I got into a good rhythm, but I was trying to save energy for the top. The top of this climb was a 18% grade. I was working super hard and this point, but I could see relief in a minute or two. Looking back from the top was an absolutely incredible view of the desert to the west. The descent back into the city made up for the challenging climb. Before I knew it, I was cruising past University of Arizona, only 6 miles from home.

The view from the top of Gates Pass

I finished up the day with a quick 20 minute transition run, followed by a nice tall coke, an entire pizza, and a couple hours on the couch. Later I made myself an omelet… and even later I hit up In & Out Burger. I couldn’t resist.

On a side note, I found myself unwinding at a local bar that evening. I had the pleasure to drink with some of the best swimmers in the world. I believe there were about 6 Olympic medals and 1 current world record sitting at my table. I love Cleveland, but those kinds of credentials can’t be found at any of my old local watering holes. It ended up being a very cool evening to top off a really good week under the sun.

Cheers.

Winters Cycling Paradise

2010-01-05T09:01:00.000-08:00

I’ve been in Tucson for a few days now and I don’t think I have stopped smiling the entire time. Lately, I’ve felt guilty talking to people from Cleveland. They are getting snowed in and frozen stiff, while I am cruising around in a jersey and shorts. The weather this time of year is unbelievable. When the sun is down, it can be a little chilly, like in the 40s, which is actually very comfortable compared to Cleveland. Once the sun comes out, it heats up fast. Lately, it has been in the low 70s for most of the days. When the sun is shining and the sky is blue, it’s hard to not be outside enjoying life.

On Sunday, I headed out for my first ride here. I waited until noon to head out because I wanted it to be warm. The weather felt like the most beautiful summers day in Cleveland, no wind, blue sky, and a warm sun… hard to remember that it was Jan 3^rd. It’s hard to know where to ride when you are new to a city. Luckily, I got in contact with Doug Friman, a member of the US Olympic triathlon team. He gave me the low down on the entire cycling scene in Tucson. Sundays ride headed north towards Mt. Lemmon. On a side note, my favorite part of living here is walking into my back yard and staring up at Mt. Lemmon. It is incredible. It took about 30 minutes to get out of the city limits. Even though there are way too many stop lights, the city riding isn’t horrible because of the wide bike lanes. Once outside of the city limits, I headed into the foothills of Mt. Lemmon. It was a fairly flat ride that headed straight through some really beautiful neighborhoods. I rode all the way to Oro Valley before swinging back towards town. The ride ended up being a little longer than I thought it would be, but I couldn't get myself to turn back home. I ended up riding about 60 miles in a little less than 3 hours. My legs were super heavy towards the end of the ride. It was a subtle reminder of how out of shape I actually am. My legs will come around soon enough.

On Monday, I headed out a little bit earlier. I was in the low 50s when I began, so I got to try out my new leg warmers. Monday’s route was much different. Instead of heading northwest towards Oro Valley, I headed northeast. I found this route way better for riding. I was out of the city in less than 20 minutes and within 35 minutes I was cruising by ranches near the base of Mt. Lemmon. This ride may be my new 2 hour loop. It was perfectly isolated from traffic, the views were spectacular, the road was rolling, the road was well paved, and the loop was fast! The only tough section was the 4 mile stretch heading south towards the Air Force base. It was up a gentle 3-4% grade but into a nasty headwind. Although, I wasn’t complaining much when I turned right onto Valencia and started ripping at 26-28mph all the way home. The weather was perfect again. It was a little cooler than Sunday, and I was fine with keeping my arm warmers on the entire ride. I ended up getting in 43 miles in less than 2 hours. My legs were heavy again towards the end.

Today, I am finally getting settled into the new place. I finally got some groceries and am getting around to putting all my stuff away. My roommates won’t be here until this weekend, so I still have a little bit of time to get fully settled. Being alone it great for now, but I am sure I will be able to use the company in a few days. The plan for today is pretty simple. A have a second interview this afternoon, then some swimming and running. I am pretty excited for my first outdoor practice since the summer. With the temps in the 60s, it should be a nice evening for a swim.

For everyone in Cleveland… enjoy the snow.

Cheers.

Memphis To El Paso

2010-01-01T22:55:00.000-08:00

There is something about driving through western Texas that really sets the mind at ease. As the sun sets across the Texas sky, all we can see are mountains in the distance. For hours we’ve passed oil fields and wind farms. There isn’t much out here, but you can see for miles. We’ll be in El Paso in a few hours. It’s been another long day on the road. Tomorrow morning we’ll finish the drive into Tucson completing our 2000 mile road trip.

Memphis to Arlington – After a late night in Memphis and 6 hours of sleep, we piled back into the car and headed towards Texas. The trip started to get really boring when we entered Arkansas. I’ve driven straight across Kansas… I thought that was the worst drive in the country. Arkansas is right up there. The attendant at the only gas station we stopped at look at us like we were aliens. The gas station had a nice hunting and fishing theme. Very appropriate for the area. Let's just say we didn't fit in to well. To make this drive any worse, it continued to rain all the way into Dallas. We finally made it to Arlington just in time to watch an old friend’s band jam out. After their band practice, we headed out to Sunshine, a bar I haven’t frequented in many years (when I was 19, we spent two weeks in Arlington because our band ran out of money and we couldn’t make it to the next city). Like all of my friends in Texas, the bar had not changed much. Before midnight, we made it out to a New Years party. I’m glad there aren’t any pictures from this party because I wouldn’t be posting them!

Arlington to El Paso – Another 5 hours of sleep last night… That brings the trip total to 16 in three nights. We hit the road a little late today because it was hard to find a quick ride back to our car. We knew we’d be in for a long day on the road. It was another 10 hours to El Paso, and we’re both running on fumes. I haven’t trained since the day before we left. My body is stiff and dehydrated. The only thing that is making this drive any better is the beautiful weather and good music. The closer we get to El Paso, the cooler the landscape gets. We’ve been seeing cacti since an hour west of Fort Worth, and it is only getting more interesting as we head farther west. We’ll be in El Paso soon. Hopefully, we’ll settle into a hotel and find some authentic Mexican food. Should be another fun night, as long as we don’t stumble anywhere near Juarez… then it could be our last night.

Arizona in the morning… can’t wait.

PS What I've learned so far... The margaritas are strong in El Paso, the music is great in Memphis, and Texas has great parties.

Cheers.

Leaving Ohio

2009-12-31T07:28:00.000-08:00

It hasn’t been that long since I’ve traveled beyond the Ohio border, but it has been a long time since I left for an extended period of time. When I was 19 years old, I left for a little over 8 weeks. I was playing drums for this punk band, and it was our first US tour. Before that tour, I had barely been outside of the state. In those 8 weeks, we hit 50 major cities across the country. It was a serious adventure for a handful of teenagers. By the time we made it back to Cleveland, I had never been so happy to be home. I was a little homesick, but that was expected. We were young and 8 weeks was a long time to spend on the road. Life away from home has always appealed to me. But, I can’t live without knowing where home is.

This time I’ll be away for at least 6 months. Everything about leaving my hometown feels surreal. The thought of actually moving away didn’t strike me until we crossed the river into Kentucky, and I am certainly going to miss certain people that I left behind. We have had a lot of good times since the end of summer, and I wouldn’t trade them for the world. But now I get to go live the life I have been fantasizing about for years... the life of an athlete.

We spent the night in Memphis yesterday. This city is seriously a place a could see myself living someday. There is something about the culture down south. We spent the night watching blues bands, eating BBQ, and drinking a few beers. Today, we’ll drive into Dallas and celebrate New Years. It’ll be nice to catch up with some old Texas friends. I haven't had much time to train on this trip yet but there will be plenty of time for that in AZ.

Hope everyone enjoys some road trip pictures. If I figure out how to put videos on here, those will be to follow.

Cheers.

Saying Goodbye

2009-12-27T08:37:00.000-08:00

The holidays are finally over and it's just about time to hit the road. The fall and early winter have been absolutely great. I have spent a ton of time with family and friends. I've been to plenty of parties, and have slacked off as much as possible with my training. I know my training for the next 10 months will be demanding, so I am happy that I have been able to take some time to recharge the batteries. I will always think fondly of the people I have grow to love in Cleveland. This place will always be my home and I will always be back. I have realized how lucky I have been to have some many good friends here. Their support is wonderful. I'm especially thankful for the ones who pick me up when I'm down, literally or figuratively. However, the next phase of my life will depend on how well I can pick myself up.

I hope that all of my friends in Cleveland will stay in touch. I'll be back someday. I may just be visiting, but we'll have plenty of time to throw back a few beers.

I love everyone very much and can't wait to show everyone what I can do.

Workout #1 - Learning to Ride like Aussie

2009-12-10T13:41:00.000-08:00

Over the course of the next several months, I plan to post some cool workouts I do or other people do. I’d like to post a new workout every week or two, but don’t hold me to that.

This week’s workout is straight from our favorite Aussie, Rob Thompson.

Building Strength on the Bike
For the unfortunate Clevelanders snowed in, this strength building workout is perfect for the trainer.

• Warm up with some easy spinning and some one leg drills (15-30 minutes)

• Main Set
o To start, put yourself in your 5th hardest gear.
o Down one gear for 4 minutes (4th hardest gear), up one gear for 1 minute.
o Down two gears for 3 minutes (3rd hardest gear), up one gear for 1 minute, up one more gear for 1 minute.
o Down three gears for 2 minutes (2nd hardest gear), up one gear for 1 minute, up one gear for 1 minute, up one gear for 1 minute.
o Down four gears for 1 minute (hardest gear), up one for 1 minute, up one gear for 1 minute, up one gear for 1 minute, up one gear for 1 minute.
o Put yourself in hardest gear and stand for 5 minutes.
o Lastly, put yourself in an easier gear in the big ring and ride tempo for 5 minutes. Imagine you just started riding downhill. This will teach you to use the back sides of hills to your advantage. The best riders attack when others are hurting!

• Cool down with easy spinning and more one leg drills. Make sure you cool down as at least 15 minutes. You’ll need to get the lactic acid out of those legs after a 25 minute climb.

This workout is designed to be 60-75 minutes and all of the climbing should be high aerobic. I used the last minute of each interval as a little bit of recovery; however, you should still be working hard the entire time. This workout is designed to simulate a long climb, so it should feel that way. Make sure to stay seated and relaxed while in the hardest gears. Sit back in your saddle to generate more power.

I encourage everyone to try this workout and let me know if you liked it. Aussie told me that he used to do workouts like this every week last winter, and we all saw how incredibly strong he got last season.

Cheers!

Looking for Motivation?

2009-12-07T18:14:00.000-08:00

Tonight, I stumbled upon a pretty special documentary. It seems like you always find something interesting when you aren’t looking for it. This evening, I had the privilege of being inspired.

Watch it at http://www.hulu.com/watch/62688/kicking-it

The documentary, “Kicking It,” is based on the Homeless World Cup in South Africa. Several years ago, a few men organized a soccer tournament that would be open to teams of homeless competitors from all across the world. More than 500 men from 48 countries competed in this tournament. Not one of these competitors was privileged in any way. These men were from the worst of slums. Even though they all lived in poverty, they all fought incredible obstacles to represent their country in sport. Some men had lost everything due to drugs and alcohol and some were never even given a chance. Some men came from countries where playing soccer was an offense punishable by death. Regardless, their hope was simply a sport. It gave their life purpose… Maybe the only thing they had to fight for.

The power of sport is very interesting. It is so simple, yet it has the ability to save lives. For people that had nothing, it gave them hope. Who would have thought something as simple as a tournament could change so many people’s lives. For every athlete out there, we all have our motivations. But next time you aren’t sure if you can achieve your goals or dreams, think about these men who did.

If you have 90 minutes… open yourself up and watch this video, especially if you are having some trouble with winter motivation.

Long Road Ahead

2009-11-29T17:32:00.000-08:00

It's hard not to think about the road ahead of me. Some days it is the only thing I think about. It is what keeps me up at night and what gets me going every morning. There is a huge amount of uncertainty that surrounds the next few years of my life. Tomorrow begins my last week as an undergraduate. Today, I was running a few miles at Cleveland State and couldn't help but think about everything I had been through since I transferred a few years ago. I am a different person with different goals, but I still can't predict where I am going to be in a year or two. It is hard to transition into a new era without knowing exactly what is going to happen. But, I guess this is what everyone goes through a few times in their life. I am about to take a chance on myself. I don't know how it will work out, but it is just something that I have to do for myself.

I don't know if I have a future in triathlon. I don't know if I can get any faster. But I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't really try. A lot of people may think I'm nuts for pursuing triathlon like I intend to... I may be. I realize the road ahead of me is a very long one... in fact, it may be a never ending.. I don't know where it is going to take me and I don't care.

I grew up always thinking that there were two types of people in the world. The people that settled for what they were given, and the people who decided to fight for what they didn't have. I guess I know where I belong... The future is uncertain, but when everything is over, I am certain I will have a few stories to tell.

Here's to living, cheers.

Wrapping Up The 2009 Season

2009-11-21T14:55:00.000-08:00

This post recognizes several Cleveland area triathletes that stepped it up this year and raced hard. As the 2009 season comes to an end, I’ve started to think about all of the area triathletes who put in so much time and saw great results. Obviously, I can’t recognize everyone, but these few individuals deserve some credit. Congratulations to everyone who trained hard, made sacrifices, put themselves to the test, and came out on top.

Jim LaMastra – This is one of the hardest working triathletes in Ohio and quite possible the whole country. Besides training and racing ridiculously hard, Jim still finds plenty time to spend with his family, coach local triathletes, and build his career. If there is one athlete, or person in all of Ohio, to model yourself after, it is Jim LaMastra. Jim’s 2009 racing season was impression to say the least. After winning the first two triathlons he entered, he went on to finish 4th at Rhode Island 70.3, securing his 2nd Kona slot. Jim went on to race super fast on the big island finishing towards the top of his age group. Congrats to Jim for everything he accomplished this season.

Rob “Aussie” Thompson – Anyone who knows Aussie, knows he will own you on two wheels. Besides riding way too fast, Aussie spends his time with his family over in Lakewood. Anyone lucky enough to hold onto Aussie for an entire ride, knows how it feels to work hard. Aussie also had a super impressive season, culminating in a great performance at IM Louisville. I watched this kid push himself through the last few miles of that race, and have never seen someone dig that deep. Aussie knows how to suffer, and we are all waiting to see more big things from him.

Christian Kurilko – Let’s talk about some work ethic. This guy works harder and races farther than anyone I know. I’d love to spend one minute inside this guy’s head. Christian started off the season with the Cleveland Marathon, and then backs it up with a 7.5 mile swim in the Potomac River. If that wasn’t enough, throw in a half Ironman and then IM Louisville. In Louisville, Christian had the best performance of any of the Cleveland triathletes. He blew away all expectations, and had the race of his life. I watched him come through the finishing shoot in a little over 10 hours, I truly respectable IM time. Congrats to Christian for stepping up to the Ironman distance and doing it the right way!

Brian Stern – I was lucky enough to race along with Stern several times this year. We had some good times… but we also raced ridiculously hard. After a super fast time at the Kansas 70.3, Stern was already qualified for Clearwater. But, for him, that wasn’t enough. A couple months later, he blew the field away at the Steelhead 70.3. Stern is notorious for laying down super fast run splits at every race he does. A month later, Stern and I raced Long Course Nationals. Stern finished top – 20 overall and 3rd in his age group. Besides those races, Stern also managed to pick up a variety of overall wins through out the season. Stern is one of the best Masters runners in Ohio right now. Thanks for pushing me to my limits all season, and congrats for all your accomplishments.

Aaron Emig – I just met Aaron this season and he quickly proved to be one of the fastest athletes on the BAFF triathlon team and in the Cleveland area. Aaron had a huge break through race at Augusta 70.3 a few months ago. He finished at the top of his age group, and qualified for the Ironman World Championship 70.3. Besides Stern, Aaron was one of the only people from Cleveland to qualify for this race. Not only did Aaron go fast at worlds, he did it without drafting on the bike. Clearwater is notorious for drafting, and Aaron decided that he wanted to fair race for himself. This shows a great deal about his personality. He is willing and able to race with the best, but he will always do so in a way that honest and fair. I can’t wait to see what he’ll do next season, and am sure that he will again be one of the fastest athletes in the area.

Again, congrats to everyone who raced hard and accomplished what they didn't think was possible. Special thanks to all of my sponsors this season, and any company who supported local triathlons. My main sponsor this season, Fleet Feet Sports, always went above and beyond their responsiblities to local racing and is one of the most dedicated running stores in all of Ohio. Thanks to Jody and Heather for everything they have done. Without Fleet Feet Sports, the Cleveland racing scene would not be the same.

Moving to The Sunshine Factory

2009-11-15T13:08:00.000-08:00

In an effort to spend the winter on two wheels, I'll be moving out west to Tucson, AZ. Moving away from Cleveland for a winter has been on my mind for the last few years, and with graduation 3 weeks away, it is about time for a change! I have set some big goals for myself for the 2010 triathlon season, and I am hoping that spending a winter putting in base miles will help me reach my goals. For those Clevelanders who tough out the winter riding the trainer and running the icy roads, I have a great deal of admiration. But, I know my time would be better spent training in a warmer climate. I'll be back to Cleveland in late June to race the remainder of the season. So far, my schedule includes the ITU Long Course World Championships in Germany, Rev 3 Cedar Point Half Ironman, and The Lonestar 70.3. I expect to add another 7-10 races to the 2010 scehdule. Because I am moving back to Cleveland for the majority of the season, I plan to continue race locally and nationally for Fleet Feet Sports and Flexus Fitness Group; however, I am currently working on picking up a few more sponsors.

While I am out training in Tucson, AZ all winter, I want to keep in touch with everyone back in Cleveland. I plan to update this blog pretty regularly to keep in contact with everyone. Plus, if anyone wants to spend spring break riding under the sun, all it takes is a plane ticket to Tucson. It is going to be pretty busy before I set out to the desert, but I am always willing to grab a beer with anyone. Even though I am headed out of town, I hope to come back and see that the winter treated everyone well and everyone is super fit and healthy. Here's to a break through 2010 season for everyone.

Cheers!

Spend the winter doing what you suck at!

2009-11-05T11:03:00.000-08:00

For me, it’s officially been the off season for more than 6 weeks. Like most over achieving triathletes, I am starting to feel a little bored. I really want to get back into those miles, but I know that my mind needs several more weeks of unstructured training. So what to do?

With another winter approaching in Cleveland, it is the perfect time to do something you suck at!

Although I didn’t grow up running or cycling, those sports were much more natural to me. When I started racing triathlons, I was no different than most people. The swim was purely survival. I’m still not the greatest swimmer, but I have come a long, long way. And, I owe it all to Cleveland’s nasty winters.

Two years ago, I decided that I was going to spend the bulk of the winter trying to get better at swimming. I decided that I wasn’t going to keep swimming like a triathlete. I was going to swim like a swimmer. This meant going to masters swim practice, learning to read the clock, flipping at each wall, and swimming EVERY stroke. I’ve met a countless number of triathletes that don’t flip turn, only breathe to one side, and can only swim freestyle. Triathletes that don’t embrace the swimming lifestyle will never swim fast times. Becoming a 3 sport athlete instead of a triathlete is the philosophy I adopted a few years ago. Many triathletes think that it is okay to be triathletes. Trust me, it isn’t. When I first started running seriously, I started working at a specialty running store. I could have worked anywhere, but I wanted to learn to run from runners. By adopting the running mentality, I was able to progress much faster. Triathletes have used this strategy since the beginning of the sport. The Big Four, Tinely, Scott, Allen, and Molena, started this sport based on this strategy. They swam like collegiate swimmers, cycled liked roadies, and ran like marathoners. This was the only way they knew how to train, and it worked.

So, this winter don’t train like a triathlete. Train like a swimmer, a cyclist, or a runner. Do something you suck at, and do a lot of it. I decided to swim 6 days per week until I move to Tucson in January. My goal is swim masters 25-30k per week. I’ve done this kind of focus for 3 winters straight and it always helps my summer swimming. The winter is the perfect time to get good at your weakness. So, when it’s cold and shitty out, head out to the pool, or hop on the trainer. Next summer, you’ll thank yourself for it.

Cheers.

Excuse Me Sir. I Think I'll Have Another.

2009-10-29T08:51:00.000-07:00

Yes, that's right. I've knocked out more beers than miles in the last six weeks. I've traded my runners for a nice tall IPA, and I feel pretty good about it. The off season starts off the same way every year. I usually spend the first week catching up on lost social time. I always over do it in the first week... but that's how I like to do it. After nationals, I spent a good deal of time sleeping and catching up with friends. A few weeks after that last race, I felt the need to do something more with my late season fitness. I wasn't totally satisfied with my race at nationals. It took some time to convince myself, but I decided to put in 2 weeks of running and 1 week of rest before the Columbus Half Marathon.

My plan was to run mostly easy miles with two specific workouts and two "long" runs. I started it off by "racing" the Natures Bin 5k on Saturday. I knew there wasn't going to be that many fast runners, but I hoped to put down a decent 5k by running on Brian Stern's shoulder. I ran on his shoulder all the way until the last quarter mile. I blew up and he went on to win in 16:21. I finished 7 seconds later. On Sunday, I ended up doing an incredibly hungover 10 miles with the NDC boys. The next week, I toughed out the cold, rainy weather and ran 10 x 800 @ 5:30-5:40 pace on the towpath. I really wanted to put down one more hard race before I submitted to the debauchery that is the off season. After two weeks of 30-35 miles, I figured I was ready to throw down a decent half marathon. I wanted to take this race seriously, but it was hard to let go of my off season rituals. A few nights before the race, I found myself at Mug Night at 1:30AM. So much for resting this week. I wasn't too concerned. This race was all in good fun.

I worked all day on Saturday before I headed down to meet Herzog in Columbus. I grabbed a 6-pack and met him at the hotel. We ordered a pizza and he watched me drink a couple beers. I told him it would calm his nerves, but he thought I was crazy. It was going to be 35 degrees on race morning. There was no need to worry about dehydrating myself by drinking too many beers. Race morning came and it was COLD! I tried to stay warm, but I was shaking until about mile 3. My approach to this race was incredibly relaxed. My main goal was to improve on my 1:17:21 at the Cleveland Half Marathon in May. My dream goal was to run under 1:16. I got into a very solid group of runners early on. There was roughly 5 of us for the first 6 miles. I knew we were running fast, but I was more concerned with sitting in the group and taking my pulls. We went through the 10k in under 35 minutes. Even though I knew we were running a little fast, it felt solid. Stern dropped at the 6 mile mark. Everyone else in the group dropped by 9. I spent the whole day fighting so hard to stay with the group. Now, it was up to me to finish it off.

I hadn't wore a watch for this race, so I wasn't sure about my exact pace. As I literally gave it everything I had, I saw the finish clock tick past 1:14:00. I flipped out in the chute. I couldn't have been more excited to see my finishing time. It was the first time all year that I truly surprised myself. I had raced harder than I thought was possible and I had been rewarded for it. I almost got dropped 10 times during the last 5 miles, but for the first time all year, I stuck. I ran a 1:14:20 half marathon, and I am pretty damn happy with it. This proves to all the overly uptight runners and triathletes, having a little fun doesn't hurt your racing, but not believing in yourself does. I should have realized this a long, long time ago.

Since the race, I've gotten back to enjoying the off season. I've been riding the cross bike, swimming a bunch, staying out "late", and drinking plenty of beers. Life is all about a little balance. It is okay to be disciplined and dedicated to your sport, but it is also okay to relax a little. But, don't let the off season last too long.

Cheers.

Nationals Part 2: Going For Broke

2009-09-23T08:58:00.000-07:00

Triathlon is a very interesting sport. You spend all year with a few goals in mind. You think about them while your working, while your training, even while your sleeping. You think about how that "magical" race is going to unfold. You think about how you are going to push yourself past the limits of the human body. You tell yourself that you'll have the courage to dig deep. You convince yourself that you will push until you break. You convince yourself that they will have to pick your limp body off the course before you give up. It is a good thing that we have the ability to trick ourselves. It's a good thing we can forget our last race enough to stand on that starting line again. Racing defines our lives. It makes us who we are. Racing is a test. It is much more than who can get to the finish line the fastest. Pre put it beautifully, "I don't race to see who is the fastest, I race to see who has the most guts."

The alarm wasn't supposed to go off for several more hours, but I was already turning in my sleep. The hotel bed wasn't nearly as comfortable as it was the night before. I awoke before the alarm had a chance to ring. I had a good feeling about today, it was the day I had been waiting for all year. Eager to get to the race site, Stern showed up at my hotel a little early. We both felt the nerves. Those who have never had the opportunity to experience the morning before a big race may not understand, but it is a feeling you remember for a lifetime.

The spotlights glared over transition. We still couldn't see. Late season races mean starting well before the sun comes up. Something about jogging down a deserted street in the dark made me feel alive. It made me feel like I was about to embark on an epic journey. As I ran along the calm lake, the rain started to pour. My body was soaked, but that was the last thing on my mind. Nothing in the world could take me from the task at hand.

As I got back to transition, the rain had picked up considerably. I put on my wetsuit early to stay warm. A half hour before the race was scheduled to start, McArthur Road began to flood. It was the last thing I expected to happen. In a heart beat, an element of uncertainty was introduced. Rumors of a swim-run-swim circulated. I laughed at the thought of hundreds of tired athletes trying to put their wetsuits back on after running 13.1 miles. After a 40 minute delay, they decided to start the race under one condition. If we came to a flooded section of the course, we were supposed to dismount and run through. Tri season wasn't even over and I was supposed to start practicing my cyclocross skills?

The water was luke warm. I couldn't believe it was wetsuit legal. Luckily the outside air was cold and we welcomed the warmth of the small lake. My plan was to quickly find open water and then settle into a very relaxed pace. I wanted to remain as comfortable as possible. "10 seconds athletes!" I had one of the straightest routes to the turn around. These first few hundred meters could be exciting.

The water around us turned red. A couple hundred athletes started ripping through the shallow lake water. The dark red clay that lined lake floor turned the lake water blood red. I'm sure it was an interesting site from the beach. After finding a good rhythm, I found myself alone towards the front of the wave. I was swimming well and could tell right away. My stroke was long and smooth. I felt much more powerful than usual. I pushed the pace around the turn-around buoy, I wanted a fast swim split. The swim went by in a flash. As I dolphin dived up the long concrete ramp towards the timing mat, I knew I had the best swim of the season. I checked my watch... 27:10.

I kept my HR low through transition. I hoped that I would have the ability to find my legs quickly. As a pedaled around the lake, I felt something I hadn't felt all year. My legs didn't feel empty! As I pushed the pace onto McArthur, the rain picked up again. Six miles into the bike I approached the first flooded section of the course. I didn't know it at the time, but I was one of the first people to go through. The volunteers weren't there to tell us to dismount. As I approached, It was much too late to slow down and dismount... I was committed. The water was 8inches deep. I rolled through slowly hoping to stay on my bike. Another athlete to my right did the same. This was a race. To me, it was completely acceptable to take chances.

At mile 25, I had no clue what place I was sitting in. I assumed I was towards the front. Top 20? Maybe even top 10? A mile before hitting the turn around, I saw the lead rider, Tim Hola. A minute behind him was Willy Pickhart. I knew both athletes' reputations quite well. I looked up for more riders but didn't see any... just the turn around. I was sitting in 3rd position overall, only 4 minutes down. The thought of that gave me a surge of energy. I hammered through the rain back towards the lake. I hadn't been near another athlete for 50 miles. I knew there were guys behind me who wanted my position. I was just going to have to fight for it.

I got off the bike in 2 hours and 25 minutes. I knew that it would be one of the faster times. The bike course was wet, flooded, and poorly paved. I didn't expect any blazing bike splits. I ran out of transition as the announcer's voice rang over the loud speaker. "Here comes the third athlete to get onto the run course. AJ Baucco from Cleveland Heights, Ohio!" I reminded myself that this race was mine.

I ran very conservatively for the first 3 miles... 6:25, 6:40, 6:15. Just like Jim told me, I would come into my pace. I started to feel really strong. My pace dropped to just above 6 minutes per mile as I hit the first turn around. I had a nice lead on my chasers, at least 3 minutes. As I ran back to transition to start the second loop, I started passing other athletes running in the opposite direction. They knew I was out in the front of the race and that gave me confidence. This race was mine and I was really starting to believe it. As I ran by my Dad at mile 6, I had this feeling deep down. This was the race that I had been waiting for my entire life. I finished the first 6.55 mile loop in 42 minutes. I felt like I had been conservative in my pacing. I saw my chasers for the first time. They were running hard, but I still had 2 minutes on both of them. As I hit mile 7, I started to slow a bit. My body began feeling heavy. I was starting to struggle a little bit. Mile 7 ended up being 7 minutes... I told myself I could get it back. By mile 8, I was finally passed. It was the first time all day. He made me feel like I was running backwards. I told myself it was okay. But was it? At mile 8.5, I was passed again. This one broke my heart a little bit. I was falling apart. I tried to keep it together. I knew this was the moment where I had to begin to dig deeper than I thought was possible. But, my body was telling me to stop. To quit. To give up. No one would care if I just gave up. In a race, your mind becomes your worst enemy. That is where the epic battle begins. The mind is the toughest opponent. I started to wonder if I would be able to finish again.

My pace was staggering. There was no more kick in my step. I was suffering. All I needed to do was hold on for a few more miles. I just couldn't pick up my pace. I wondered if I had been drinking enough liquid in the rainy conditions. Too late now, I was bonking hard as ever. At mile 11, I grabbed a tall, flat soda. I begged it to save me. At mile 11.5, I could taste the finish. I could see it in the distance. As I approached mile 12, a pack of three runners passed me. The knife was in my chest. They just twisted it. As I watched them run away from me, I got pissed off for the first time all day. I felt the sugar from the coke run through my veins like a drug. This was it. Stop being a wimp and run! My pace dropped, my stride opened and I began to kick for the finish.

The more I race the more I feel like I am searching for that perfect race. As endurance athletes are we ever happy? I have accomplished a great deal in the last few years. I won two triathlons, podium'd at many others, and finished a world championship race. I have never crossed the line and been satisfied enough to say "That's it. That is the best race I will ever have in my life." I known that will never happen. I just hope that someday I will look back on how I lived my life and be truly happy. If that happens, all of the suffering, the pain, the loneliness, the self-doubt, the struggle... it will all be worth it. I am my biggest enemy, my toughest competitor. I always have been. I know that I can accomplish great things in my life and I won't be happy until I do. I'm not an athlete. I don't have any great skills. I don't even think I was born with the ability that most elite endurance athletes were given. I was just given this burning passion to better myself. I'm not sure if it is a blessing or a curse. But it is mine... It burns deep inside me and it is going to take me places.

I ended up crossing the line in 4:27:25. I was 8th overall at a national championship. I was also 1st in the M20-24 division. I guess that means I am an age group national champion. I can't help but laugh when i write that. If you knew me a few years ago, you'd laugh too. I guess that anything is possible... who knows what the next few years will bring.

Nationals Part 1: Survivng the Taper

2009-09-16T04:52:00.000-07:00

Today is Wednesday, 3 days before the race. So at this point, I can accurately say that I survived my only real taper of the year. My season started nearly 6 months ago when I showed up in New Orleans to test my bike trainer fitness, or lack thereof. It has been a long year, but a fairly eventful one. This year has brought me many good memories, some new friends, and a new respect for the sport of triathlon. A ton have people have stepped up and helped me on my journey and for them, I am truly thankful. Jim LaMastra, a local triathlon god ;) has been there for me everyday this year. He has hammered me on the bike, given me guidance, and believed in me when I didn't even believe in myself. He is the kind of person that everyone should strive to be more like.

I had set many goals for myself this year, and some of those goals remain unaccomplished. There were certain races I wanted to win, and certain times I wanted to nail. But looking back, not winning a race wasn't what defined my season. The work an athlete puts in, when no one is watching, truly defines that athlete. The race is just how the athlete is remembered. Regardless of how I am remembered this year, I have done the work and am a better athlete and person because of it.

After my 3 week streak of Olympic distance racing, I needed a break. I was 2nd OA at Pittsburgh, 4th OA at Cleveland, and 3rd OA at Greater Cleveland. It was a solid racing block, but I needed to step away from racing to really redefine my goals. After a much needed recovery week, I started my build for nationals. I tried to be as disciplined as possible during these few weeks, but my mind wandered. It has been hard juggling a relationship and racing season. I was being pulled in two directions for weeks, even months. Even though she didn't mean to, that person was stealing away my passion for triathlon. She was making me compromise my goals and even my dreams. She made me feel like I wasn't normal for wanting so much out of a pretty basic sport. I may not be normal, but I sure don't need someone pointing that out. As I approached my 2 week taper, my life started to fall apart at the seams. Even though my relationship had fallen apart a while ago, I felt the need to address it at the worst possible time. I should have been concentrating on triathlon, but it was the last thing on my mind. Failing at a relationship can be viewed in many different ways. I wanted to blame triathlon at first. That would have been easier. It does consume a huge portion of my life. But, my passion for triathlon didn't ruin this relationship. We were just two people who had much less in common than we thought. If we both would have been more upfront about our lifestyles in the beginning, that relationship would have never begun. But I guess that is what relationships are for, to learn from. I am happy that situation was finally sorted out because my mind in finally at ease and I can move on with my life. As for the taper, I survived. I feel fit and fast. I am healthy and willing to put my heart on the line again. It is what I live for and when I cross that line on Saturday, this whole year will be worth it. I may have gotten sidetracked, but I sit here 3 days away with a second chance. When that moment comes, the one where you truly have to dig deeper than you thought was possible, I hope I have the courage. For one day, can be remembered for the rest of my life.

Suzuki Pittsburgh Triathlon

2009-08-04T06:33:00.000-07:00

After attempting to race The Dam Tri with the flu, I found myself completely wrecked for 10 days. I didn't leave my couch for days at a time. My stomach turned every time I even thought about training. I spent my time sleeping, watching Degrassi, napping, playing video games, and sitting in the bathroom. It was definitely the worst 10 days of my year so far. After my illness subsided and I got my legs back underneath me, I started a very intense 2 week training block. When the two weeks were completed, I had logged about 38 hours of quality training. This short training block included over 375 miles on the bike, 75 miles of running, and about 18 miles of swimming. These two weeks left me a little beat up, but ready to race again. After a quick recovery week, I found myself at the starting line of the Pittsburgh Triathlon.

I had decided to do this race for a few reasons. After 10 days of being sick and two weeks of hard training, I was itching to race. Also, I have done this course before and I wanted to see my progression in the last two years. Mentally, I was in a very stable place and I was eager to test myself once again.

Rachel and I drove to Pittsburgh on Saturday afternoon. My parents, especially my Dad, couldn't let himself miss my race. Even though he was scheduled to be out of town the morning of the race, he went out of his way to meet us in Pittsburgh that night. This was the first race I let anyone, who wasn't racing, stay with me. I didn't think Rachel would get in my way, this was just uncharted territory. Turns out, I spent the day before the race much more relaxed then I had ever been before. Apparently, she has this ability to take my mind right off of the race.

I awoke 3 minutes before my wakeup call was scheduled... not surprising. My eternal alarm clock is always set the night before a race. I went through all of my pre-race rituals and left Rachel sleeping as I slipped out of the door, it was early. I got down to transition with plenty of time to spare. I have raced so many time in the last few years that I could go through my pre-race sleep walking. I spent the majority of the early morning warming up. I wanted to make sure that I was completely ready to race today. I saw Rob Reddy before the start. He had an interesting night. Apparently, bringing your dog to the hotel is grounds for removal. Rob, his girlfriend, her son and the dog spent the night in the car. He could have called me... we had an extra couch.

As race time approached, I slipped in the Allegheny River to warm up. I remembered that Rachel told me to look out for the Allegheny White Fish. I laughed to myself. I hoped I wouldn't be seeing any floating condoms this morning. The water was warm and gross. I already wasn't happy with the swim conditions. Exactly like two years ago, I cut my foot walking into the river. I was bleeding, but it wasn't horrible. I thought "Damn river gets me every time."

We all lined up at the buoy ready to race. The announcer said it would be one minute till the gun. I had to swim a modified breast stroke to stay at the buoy. The current was really strong today. The first 400 meters were against the current to the turn around buoy, then it was about 1100 meters to the swim exit. Those first 400 meters lasted a lifetime. I was fighting so hard against the current, but I didn't feel like I was getting any closer. My attitude was negative during the swim. My arms were heavy and I couldn't get into a rhythm. When I got closer to the exit, I couldn't figure out where I was getting out of the water. I over swam the exit and had to go against the current for several yards. This was an annoying end to an annoying swim. As I exited the water, I spotted my parents and shot them a look... they knew I wasn't happy with my swim. After a 22 minute swim, 3 minutes faster than two years ago, I was sitting in at least 10th position. My transition was quick and I had one thing on my mind, a blazing bike split.

All year, I haven't been happy with my bike splits. In training, I am consistently riding well. However, something about the racing hasn't been translating. Luckily, I felt good about this bike course. The course is two loops. It climbs about 6 miles at a fairly easy grade before turning around and heading back towards the city. I stayed in the big ring for the entire climb and I definitely used it to my advantage. Riding very gradual and rolling hills have always been a strength of mine. In the first half of the first lap, I rode my way into 3rd. This bike course was treating me well. As I descended back towards PNC Park, the rain kicked up a little. It made the downhills dangerous, but I was looking for a challenge. I rode aggressively and finished the first lap in roughly 31 minutes. I again started climbing with a mission. When I hit the turn around again, I was in 2nd place. I saw the lead rider, Colin Gundling. He was right where I wanted him. I knew if I descended well, we'd come into transition together. The next downhill was tougher because the rain had kicked up. As the rain pelted me in the eyes, I wished I had my sunglasses on. My second descent was slower, but my second lap was faster... just over 29 minutes. I finished the bike in 1:00:15. It was like 8 minutes faster than two years ago and it was a personal best for the 40k. I was delighted to have rode like that on such a rolling course.

I exited T2 about 30 seconds down from Colin. As we ran down towards the river, he was right underneath me. At the time, I was certain that he was mine. I have always proven to be a faster runner than him. At the Dam Tri, I out ran him by over 30 seconds and I was sick as a dog! I had a great feeling in the pit of my stomach, I was going to win again... I decided not to chase him down too quickly. I thought he would come back to me naturally. I starred at his back in anticipation. I waited... and waited. Why wasn't he coming back to me? Why was he getting farther away? I started to panic a little bit. He was running really well. I was running hard, almost at my max. But, for some reason, I wasn't closing the gap. Where my legs not as fresh as I thought they were? Was this an effect of the 10 day flu or the 2 week training block. I thought I was stronger than this. I decided that at the 5k turnaround I would make my move. I would put my head down and run like hell. I would catch him or I would die trying. I hit the turn around 40 seconds down from him. I started to run hard. I could feel my heart beating out of my chest. I was red lining... but would I blow up? I looked up after a few minutes, he was getting closer. I kept pushing. I looked up again. There he was... How much did I have left? I passed Rob Reddy coming the other way. "3000 meters AJ," he yelled. "Your 30 seconds down!!! You can catch him! Go!" Could I really catch him? I put my head down one last time... all or nothing. A minute later, I picked up my head, my semi-blurred vision saw no leader. My pace slowed and started to die slowly. I had blown up. My HR was through the roof and every part of my body was filled with lactic acid. Today wasn't my day, it was Colin's. I finished the last mile, but stopped chasing. I pulled my jersey back up over my shoulders. I myswell look descent when I cross the finish line. No sense in looking like I just got defeated. I crossed the line in 2:02:15, a personal best at the Olympic Distance. I was about 70 seconds off Colin's winning time. I was very happy with my performance. I had gone pretty fast on a tough course. And, I was like 14 minutes faster than two years ago, even though that was only my second triathlon.

At first, I was upset that I wasn't able to run Colin down like I thought I could, but that kid had a great race. My hat was off to him. He had his day. He pushed hard and deserved his win. I was happy that I was there to test him. He later said in an interview with the Pittsburgh Tribune that he saw me coming at him at the 5k turn around and he was worried. I may not have won, but I sure as hell gave it a shot, and he knew that. My legs may not have carried me to my fasted 10k, but at least I can sleep at night knowing that I showed up, raced hard, and crossed that line with my head up... again.

Even though that finish line is only a temporary finish, it still feels good to cross it. Some day, I'll cross that final finish line, but it won't be a line on the ground. Until then, I keep racing because it is the only thing that has ever made me feel truly alive.