September 2005 Archives

The water felt familiar but the stroke did not. My arms flopped above my head for the first eight laps of my triumphant return to the pool. I was relieved to see how fast my body familiarized itself with water and walls. It's been over two months since I swam in a pool, electing to finish my Ironman swim workouts in Lake Monona to get used to the open water and lack of walls.

I was feeling good, right up to the point when a obviously fit swimmer jumped in the lane next to me. I don't know if she was pushing me, or I was pushing her, but my 4 easy 100s turned into moderate, then into moderate hard swims, just to stay in front. I saved my ego for that set, but my body slipped away later, struggling through longish swims. I let it go and ended the workout after 2000 yards, using the fact that it was my first swim as an excuse. I did recoup some pride with some crunchies and leg lifts afterwords. I also picked up a schedule to see what yoga classes are available.

I don't know where to begin. I know that it started with my first run on August 16, 2004. It was the first day of the South Beach diet. Though the post says differently, I logged my weight in that day at 213.6 pounds. About a week later I went on my first real bike ride. Real that it was on a road bike with clipless pedals and smooth tires. I continued hop-scotching my way through workouts, soaking up as much information as I could about racing triathlons, let alone training, eating, preparing, and everything else you need to know to actually race triathlons. On September 13, 2004, I committed to the Ironman Wisconsin - 364 before the race. I had to. It filled up in 13 hours.

On my 29th birthday, six weeks into the diet, I'd lost 23 pounds, and went for a 4.5 mile jog in 49 minutes, an 10:55 pace. The pounds kept dropping. I kept working out. In October, I found the Tri-DRS mail list through some other posts and race reports. Ron Gilcreast's Hawaii Ironman Race Report inspired me, as did the many others that I read.

In December, a small test of my fitness at the JMM Alumni meet. Relatively fast times provided encouragement and further spurred me on in training. On Monday, January 24, 2005, I began the "base" phase of my training. I was now serious. My training log now recorded every workout, every mile, every second, every hearbeat, every calorie, and every thought on my way to Ironman. Some days there was more than one workout, but on Mondays there was none. At the end of week one, I trained for 5:39:25. I built time and distance for three weeks, then drop back for the fourth, and repeat that same four-week cycle. In week seven, I experienced my first set back.

I highlighted the entry in orange and made the following note: "Shortened Run b/c of right shin/calf. Feel like I'm doing damage to either shin or Achilles. Need to make PT appt." A few weeks and a vacation later, the pain was diagnosed at Plantar Faciitis. I did my excercises and stayed pain free from running. Biking moved from the trainer indoors to outdoors. I found a new love.

At week 13, I ended the Base phase and moved into the Build Phase. The next ten weeks included intensity into each workout, rising the heartrate and pushing the lactic acid. It was a new experience all over again. I improved at Crazylegs so much, I didn't know what to do. Was I becoming a runner? At the end of May I finished the Mad City Half Marathon.

With the major running events over, I relaxed those workouts to rest my run legs and concentrated on my bike legs. 112 miles is a long way to ride, no matter where you do it. In June, I finished my first triathlon with surprising results. And just like that, we were down to two months.

By now, my weight bottomed out to about 178, more than 35 pounds less than when I started. Think about a small child and then imagine that small child distributed around my mid section and face. I was carrying a small child. No wonder why I was getting faster. On June 30, 2005, I ran 5.5 miles in 51:58, a 9:26 pace and complained my legs were tired from the previous night's brick workout in Pardeeville. I was there preparing for the Pardeeville triathlon. My second and another success. That race weekend ended the Build phase. I now was in the Peak phase.

July was hot, baby. Damn hot. Little did I know just how valuable they would be. I would come home from runs so sweaty, I was wetter than I am after a shower. I bought tubs and tubs of Gatorade Endurance and boxes of Gu energy gels, readying my body for what Ironman provides on the race course.

The summer heat would bear down on July 24, 2005 for the Spirit of Racine Half Ironman. Officially it was 97° in Milwaukee. Racine had it at 99° with heat indecies ranging from 110° to 112°. Average wind speed was above 15mph. What ensued was a large blow dryer blowing in your face for the entire day. It was not fun, but turned out to be very important. To top it all off, our car's ignition broke, requiring an additional day's stay and a tow to the local Ford dealer. A few hundred dollars and a unscheduled day off, and we were on our way.

August was to be the peak of the peak. A week of rest & recovery after Racine and three weeks of hard biking, long running and one final push before the final taper. And then, setback. Patellar Tendonitits was the diagnosis from Dr. Timmerman. So I scaled back on the bike. It was a bit disappointing to stay away, but I knew it was for the best. I learned all about iontophoresis, and practiced stretching really well. The silver lining was that I was running. And I ran the best I could.

And then, it was done. All that was left was a taper. I started to blog my thoughts, counting down the days down and trying to get a sense of all the crazy, excited and nervous chatter running through my head. Soon, the Monona Terrace turned into a small village, an Ironman Village in fact. They set up a Endless pool, Ford brought some cars, and many vendors peddled their goods. I tried to work until the Thursday before, but my mind wasn't really with it. ON Friday, I met with some friends for breakfast at Mickey's Dairy Bar and one last swim after. Saturday I made final checks on the bike and dropped it off along with 2100 others. Then my transition bags went inside along with all the others. And then I rested.

Race Day. The culmination of a lot of work. From Monday, August 16, 2005 until 7 AM Sunday, September 11, 2005, I had swum 157.7, biked 3,063.6, and ran 719.4 miles. All told, I worked out for 364 hours, thirty-nine minutes and fifty-two seconds. On that morning, I calmly floated in the water saw the sun raise behind me, and said, "There it is" when the cannon broke the tension. Twelve hours, fifty-one minutes and forty-one seconds later, it was over.

The year prior I told my family and then the world:

But there's something more. I can't put a finger on it, but there is something deep down that has been nagging at me to go through with it. There's an overwhelming emotional desire to finish. To turn the last corner on the run, buoyed by the cheers of thousands lining that final stretch, would be so cool, I can't even begin to tell you what that would mean to me. I want to cross The Line so bad. But there's this 140.6 miles that have to be completed before that last turn. The past year has been spent questioning that desire, wondering if the pain will be worth it. The debate in my head kept leading back to a memory my brother Mike and I had a long time ago.

That feeling at the finish line measured up to all the expectation. There is nothing like it. I could not take the smile off my face. I will never forget that moment.

Final Charts

PRE-RACE

I woke up to my alarm and felt ready. I knew it was going to be a long day. Although dark, I could tell the lake was a bit wavy by the looks of the trees. As I ate my two bagels for breakfast, I watched the early arrivals queue in the ramp that I would bike down in just three short hours. I was chomping at the bit to get going. I was already shaking with nervous, excited energy and we hadn't even left the apartment. I opened the door to leave and there was a bright orange poster with well wishes from my friends Paul & Jess. I have the best friends ever.

My wife (IronSherpa & Team RobbyB captain) walked the block to the special needs dropoff and continued to the transition area. On the way, I paused to look down the finish chute. The bleachers were empty. The street was dimly lit. The clock was blank. But, there was the famed blue rug leading up to the arch seemed to glow in the pre-dawn light. My legs filled with goose bumps.

At my bike, I filled my water bottles, pumped the tires, and checked everything over. On my way out to get marked, a tire popped, disturbing the morning silence. It was 5:45 am and while there were thousands of people milling about, it was quiet. People were whispering. No one dared disturb the silence for they knew it would be the last moment peace and quiet for the day.

I peed for the second time since leaving home. Nervous energy, I guess. (At least I was hydrated.) I finalized my transition bags and took the elevator down to the shore, just like I had done for the previous month. I met up with Paul & Mike, both alumni of my high school, and swimmers themselves. They too raced the heat in Racine, and everyone understood while that was hard, this was a new ball of wax. We found a nice spot on the peeler rugs, sat down and joked about stupid stuff before putting our wetsuits on.

SWIM

Walking into the water, everyone's faces dropped an octave: somber, forlorn, nervous, and scared. Gone was the quiet of the dawn. Mike Reilly pressured everyone into the water, and different songs played on the sound system. Looking at the stone faces, I said to Paul, "It's the march of the living dead." One last wave to Team RobbyB, and I dove into the water and swam out to the start line, right where all the fast people swim. The plan was to stick with them as long as I could, and then stay long and strong to the finish. The Pros were about 100 yards ahead, adorned in fittingly gold caps. I found myself right behind the youngest male competitor, who got cut from his college swim team because he didn't have endurance. I thought his bold prediction of a 49:00 split was poppycock, so I stayed behind him, ready to swim with him as he boldly pronounced to everyone his expected time. At one point, I turned to see the sun rising behind us. It was a perfect pink-orange circle cutting through the thick haze. It was ready to bear down on us with serious fury.

I didn't hear much of the anthem or the count down. Then, there was a subtle boom. I said (out loud I think), "There it is," and we were off. I felt some shoving in the first 500 yards, but that was from side to side as everyone made their own lines to the buoys. The wind blew the smaller flagged buoys off the major rectangle lines, so it was a bit tough keep a straight line. And then, all of a sudden, I'm in this clear zone, with about ten feet of space all around me. The washing machine pulled me along, and I'm very easy and relaxed, just keeping the pace. It was in this "zone" when it hit me that this wasn't a workout. All those little dots on the Terrace are people: fans and family watching their swimmer. This is it. I'm frickin' doing an Ironman. My legs filled with goose bumps again.

After the first turn, things spread out. I saw lots of those gold caps drift by me, so either I'm going too fast (likely) or I'm getting lucky. The second lap was a bit more choppy and challenging. I kept my pace long, taking time to wave to the lifeguards on their paddle boards. I even got one thumbs up and a hearty laugh back. This WAS fun, just like it should be. I saw the Gatorade bottle and drove towards it. I got up, crossed the timing mats, heard the shouts and raised my hand to each ear to get them pumped even more. They went nuts in response. How cool!

Swim split: 54:18. 41 overall, 4 in my age group.

T1

I found my buddy's wife, who runs the peeler volunteers. She stripped me, and I made my way up the ramp to the transition. I really like using the elevator. This ramp stuff sucks. I was swarmed immediately by two volunteers, and I had to calm them down. They practically threw me into a chair, and had all my stuff on the floor before I even sat down. I was in no rush and calmly got my bike stuff on and casually walked out the door. All goal times were thrown out the window, so what did it matter if I ran? I made my way down the loooooong rows of bike racks, but tore my race number off my belt. No matter. I just stuffed it into my bike shorts. The volunteer attempted to get my bike out from the wrong side, so I helped her out, put on my shoes and made my way down the ramp. Time: a comfortable 10:44.

BIKE

They warned us of the bumps heading out John Nolen drive, barely a tenth of a mile into the course. I was a victim, losing my mesh plug for the aero bottle. Knowing I needed it for the long day, I got off, ran back and picked it up, and really stuffed it in there. I double checked the rest of the equipment. Hmmmm...seems that my speed sensor wasn't working the bike. I guess it got knocked off kilter in the tussle to get my bike off the rack. At least I can use my forerunner to track my progress. Hmmmm...seems that I didn't start my watch. Oh well, we not doing this for time, right?

I promised my self to stay in the small ring all the way out to the loop start in Verona. That way, I would make sure I was spinning and warming my legs up. Even with the warm morning, it took almost 15 miles for them to come around, after getting to and through Verona. Then, on the section of the loop that heads north, my legs came around with the help of a nice southerly wind, and I maintained a pretty good clip.

Team RobbyB was in force. Not one time did I pass them cheering without a comment from the folks around me. It made all the difference in my world, and I'm pretty sure it helped out those around me, too. There was too much positive energy to let the sun and wind keep you down.

When Dr. Timmerman (also a finisher: 14:17:44) diagnosed my tendonitis six weeks ago, he told me directly that I shouldn't stand when pedaling. Not only was that good advice for my knee, but it ended up saving me. I saw many people stand to get over the small, constant rolling hills. I did the opposite, staying seated shifting up to let my easier gears do the work. This also allowed me to pass many people on the major hills. I only stood up to stretch the back and legs out.

I stopped at special needs for about 11 minutes, peed a bit, and ate some Pringles and a couple of peanut butter sandwiches. The special needs were about 30 volunteers short (no-shows), so they were running ragged in the sun and heat. I almost started to help them out. With mighty big thanks, I pushed on, starting the second loop.

Once I felt the wind, I knew that in order to make it, I would have to take it easy. Not only was the wind in your face, it would whip across the road crossways, and then blast you once you hit a clearing. So, I held back a bunch, spinning up and down the rollers. And then, my bottles were empty. I still had another five miles to Mt. Horeb and the next aide station. But there was this big hill between me and them. It was gut-check time. "This is what makes this an Ironman," I told myself, and pressed on. I climbed the hill, smiled for the RobbyB cameras, and got my fuel and some oranges. From here, it's mainly downhill around through Cross Plains and into the wind again. Just before you reach the Degree-sponsored toughest hills, the wind saps any energy you might have left in the tanks. I saw people walking their bikes up, even some resting the shade. The second hill of the two was like being on Le Tour. Crowds were three and four deep, leaning in, narrowing the road to fit only two bikes. All of that made it so much easier to climb. After that, I set a course for home. I attacked the last hill and flew the mainly downhill return trip into T2. Riding behind the Coliseum provided a view of the lake and skyline that I'd never seen before. Again, I got goose bumps on my legs knowing that I only had twenty-six 1-mile runs to go.

Bike Split: 6:15:21. 502 overall, 69 in my age group. I was 340 overall at this point.

T2

Much like T1, I took my time. The legs were a bit wobbly, but they held as I shuffled my way into the welcome cool air of the Terrace. I did the full change, grabbed a Snickers bar, pack of Pringles and headed out for some sunscreen. I grabbed water and started my first marathon. Time: 8:59

RUN

I walked a bit to get my run legs under me, and then started running. Then I walked again; finding it easier to walk and eat. Though tempting, I never looked back at the finish line. I already had an image of me finishing anyways. I ran the first 13 miles by running to each aide station, then walking through each one for as long as I needed to; sometimes well beyond the end of it. The heat was bearing down at this point. I ran up to the aide station on Breese Terrace (mile 4) and saw the bike for the third place female stopped and the rider looking back. There on the ground, was Amanda Lovato in obvious agony. She was hyperventilating and crying at the same time. Husband Michael raced up, and dropped his bike to be by her side. Almost immediately, we heard sirens in the distance. She did not finish. The heat takes no prisoners.

The run/walk strategy carried me to the turn-around point. Fumes, pretzels, Gu, and Team RobbyB carried me the rest of the way. I walked much more than the first half. About mile 16 or 17, I realized that I hadn't eaten in a while, so I took some Gu and pretzels. The food cleared my head enough to make me realize just how much I was out of it. I kept up the food intake and focused on the finish line. With three aide stations to go, I figured that I run to the next, then walk to the last one, and finish the last mile running. However, a check of the watch showed thirteen hours was closing fast. Then, all of a sudden, my cousin was running next to me. We parted at the aide station; he went to the finish line and I walked through the aid station. Lifted by his visit and chat, I felt good enough at the end of the aide station to run to the pedestrian overpass. The overpass is one of those things that don't look so bad, but are deceptively brutal if you run over. I walked over it, and used the momentum at the bottom to run to the Capitol.

On the way up the last hill around the square, Ted sees me and yells, "How are you doing?" I yell back, "I'm finishing!" and he sprints up to alert Team RobbyB that I'm coming in.

I purposely made every run end up this hill and down the finishing street, preparing me for exactly for this moment. I ran the last 100 feet with my eyes closed, putting myself on this night, with the crowd, with lights shining on me, name over the loud speaker, hearing those famous three words. I closed my eyes one more time before I turned the corner and opened them to see it come alive. I slowed to let the guy finish with a proper gap in front of me, pointed thanks to everyone in Team RobbyB, pumped my fists in the air and crossed The Line.

Run Split: 5:22:28. 775 overall, 85 in my age group.

Total Time: 12:51:49. 504 of 1678 official finishers overall, 63 of 186 in AG (includes 23 DNFs)

POST-RACE

I was caught by two friendly ladies, given my finisher's medal and bag, and saw my brother and sister behind the line. Then, I gave lots of love to Kris who came running in. I can't thank everyone enough for the support throughout the year, and especially this day. I grabbed some more Gatorade and went to thank everyone in Team RobbyB. I could feel this huge smile on my face, and nothing was ever going to take it away.

At the awards brunch the next day, Graham Frasier, president of Ironman North America, has never seen a DNF rate so high. Ironman average rates are around 8-9%. On Sunday, 395 out of 2076 athletes that started the swim did not finish. That's 19%. Graham labeled this race as "Carnage-man." Nonetheless, next year's race sold out in about 7 hours.

Huge congrats go out to Paul & Mike for qualifying for the 2006 Hawaii Ironman. It was sweet to see how excited they both were.

THANKS

I owe a huge debt of gratitude to all my family and friends that came out to cheer me on as part of Team RobbyB. You lifted my spirits all day and helped me keep the dream alive under some pretty brutal conditions. I cannot thank you enough, but I will try. And, I promise that if you ever set out to complete an Ironman, or any other life dream, I will be there to support you every step of the way.

Team RobbyB: Kris, Beth, Dan, Mom, Dad, Romayne, Kelly, Kevin, Christina, Kristin, Jamie, Carrie, Nikki, Debbi, Paul, Jess, Jason, Paige, Rachel, John, Tammy, Suzanne, Randy, Geoff, Chris, Connie, Ted, Tori, Dave, Tim, Kristin, TJ, Lizzie, Nate, Emily, Tanya & Family, Cindy, Jill, Jeremy, Jessica, Minh, Peter, Wendy, Sydney, Jim, Kathy. And to the countless people that followed on-line, sent e-mails, or left messages. You guys rock!

 

I finished the IM Wisconsin race today. Final time: 12:51:49. Everything went really well despite the weather. I smoked the swim, survived the bike course, and struggled through the run. I'll post a proper race report soon.

HUGE THANKS to everyone from Team RobbyB. By far, the best cheering section on the course. They were everywere on the bike course, and lifted me to the finish on the run course. I can't thank them enough.

What?! Where?! What am I supposed to be doing today? Bike? Run? Swim? Let's go! You're late!

That was my body's response to waking up this morning at 5, a full hour before any alarm bells. For once, I didn't have anywhere to be at 5. So, I peed and went back to sleep, with different sections of me race running through my head: easy on the bike, pedal circles, keep moving, and that oh-so-special finish line. At 6, I finally got up and picked up Sheila and her friend Judy for breakfast.

They'd never heard of Mickey's Dairy Bar. I don't think they'll forget it. I warned them of the portion size, but that didn't faze them. Somehow, "Pancakes a half-inch think and as big as your head" didn't sink in. Two plates each of eggs & French Toast later (I went with strawberry pancakes. So good.), we made our way to the Gatorade Swim. It seemed they renamed Lake Monona to Gatorade. I just about hit the bottom swimming with breakfast sitting low in the belly. I tasted those strawberry pancakes at a couple of different spots around the loop. Ford is STILL sponsoring Ironman. Just in case you didn't know that, because I forgot. But, between the floating Ford sign and the two signs hanging off the Monona Terrace, reminded me.

I spent part of the day relaxing, helping at work for a couple of hours, then off to the carbo-loading dinner. Lots of people there. They introduced the youngest and oldest age groupers. The youngest male, 20, got into Ironman after he got cut from his college swim team (Miami of Ohio) for not having enough endurance. "I want to stick it to them," he said, along with a prediction of a 49-minute swim split. The oldest female, 62, had the quote of the night. Mike Reilly asked how sweet it would be to pass another female on the course, knowing she's the oldest. Her reply: "I like it much better when I pass younger men." Local legend, Mark Johnson, a member of the Miracle on Ice hockey team spoke. He and his son are racing for the first time. There were lots of questions about drafting after. Some people are really splitting hairs. None of which are competing for Kona slots, that much was obvious. Just drop back; it's that simple folks. Jimmy was doing his best to keep his patience.

The orange quarter moon was drifting low in the sky as I walked home. It's 73 degrees as type this shortly after 9 PM. That's the normal high for this time of year. The prediction for Sunday is now up to 89 with a southerly breeze between 8 & 14 mph.

My mind is solid. I will drink. I will eat. I will move forward, steady and slow. I will finish. Bring it on.

T-Minus 1 day...

I was away from Madison for work on Wednesday. It was a good thing, too. Because I would've pressed my face against the window (I can see the finish line from our office) leaving nose prints as they set up the bleachers. I would not have gotten any work done. It's official: Ford does indeed sponsor Ironman North America Events.

The morning dawned poorly. The sun was obscured by low clouds, and the lake was angry. Choppy waves proved to be an obvious impediment for the gaggle of swimmers daring the morning swim. The cool wind brought enough bite to pause and ponder the forecasted high of 88 on Sunday. How could it get so hot in only three days? Only in Wisconsin.

I biked a portion of the run course, just to make sure it was still there. (It is.) But now, mile markers were painted, and aide stations were marked as well. Like Sesame Street, the letters F, G, C, W and Gu sponsor each aide station.

The morning at work was crazy. I think my head exploded twice. Add to that a call from our construction guys working near the run course, wondering if the course has changed in the last day. Run Course change! Zoinks! I find nothing on the website, but the traffic control plan (PDF) conflicts. Which one is correct? I'll have to look deeper into that.

At lunch today, I registered. It was very smooth with no waiting, and very friendly volunteers leading the way. I thanked each and everyone as I moved from station to station. It was surreal to see my name below large-type 336. And then, the bracelet. The silver, iridescent rainbow identifier that all the athletes wear. Gulp! This is really happening!

There's a reverence I have for Ironman. Sure, the branding helps, but the elusiveness entering, and let alone finishing, an M-dot race makes it special. The bracelet represents membership to an elite, if not idiotic, club. Right or wrong, I respected those bracelets and held those athletes with high regard. I'm honored and psyched to wear the silver. I will toe the line with the best, have fun, and see what comes.

After finishing with registration, I track down an IMNA official about the run course. She has no idea of a course change. More info will be announced at the dinner & meeting. I rush home to check out the sweet schwag bag. Talk about a disappointment. The best thing I got was a bib belt from some insurance company. And that wasn't even in the bag; I put it there after I picked it off of their table. I've got enough paper to start my own forest. Sheesh.

The sun struggled to come out over lunch, but more clouds rolled in and may bring some rain. Tonight, I have a short run. I'll set out my bags and start to pile which stuff goes where. I meet friends for breakfast and a swim tomorrow morning.

Until this morning, I was calm and relatively connected. This morning's workload rattled me. I haven't sat still since. Now, I'm pumped, nervous, and anxious all at the same time.

T-Minus 2 days...

This morning, I woke up with the anxiousness of a two-year old at Christmas, rushing to the window to see if anything changed out front. You see, I live two blocks from the Monona Terrace, home of the Ironman Village. They shut down my street during race day. The shuttle out to the bike course is a block away. The finish line is two blocks away. I can see the swim course out the kitchen window. I can see the start (and end) of the bike course on John Nolen Drive out of the same window. We live practically on top of the central nervous system of IM WI. As such, I can only contain my excitement so much.

I was up with the sun this morning for an easy, hour-long ride. On my way back, I skipped the road leading directly to my apartment, opting to go around the block to see if the famed M-dot has arrived on the Monona Terrace. Alas, it has not. I was hoping for a little something. Not even the banners on the light poles were up. I mean, don't they know we're only five days out!?! How could they be so blase about this? Didn't I pay an arm and a leg to be inundated with that damn M-dot? What gives?

I've seen hints of the dot. The bike course has signs requesting that fans do not use paint on the roads. Just this morning, there are more signs warning of the street closures. Last week, the paper listed them all on a full-page ad. There are hints of other athletes, too. (The fuel belts are a dead giveaway.) I'm sure that tomorrow will open the flood gates. Athletes and M-dots alike. Stay tuned.

T-Minus 4+ days...

It's Monday. The Labor Day weekend is coming to a close. Summer is unofficially over. The Monona Terrace flashed "Welcome Ironman Wisconsin 2005" on its marquee. There's less than six days on the countdown clock. It's finally time for Ironman Wisconsin to begin.

A moment of clarity came last week when I realized that it's not a question of my ability to finish, but rather at what time. There are two things that can prevent me from finishing: a bike crash, or a body crash. I can control the latter; it just takes a significant amount of mental fortitude.

It will be very easy for me to push the bike too fast, feeling too strong, and not leave anything for the run. Doing so will turn the run into a walk, and while I can accept that, I do not want it to. What would be the point of running all those miles if I can't actually run in the race? I've come too far in my running, and overcome some serious obstacles to walk for 26 miles. Besides, a seven hour walk sounds really, really boring. I must be diligent on the bike to eat, drink, and relax. I can do it; I just have to remind myself.

My body is getting restless. I catch myself with my leg bouncing, my arms twitching, my fingers tapping. I've stayed in most of the weekend, and drank plenty of water. I've fallen back on sage advice from swimming as a kid for a taper: Rest, Relax, Stay out of the Sun. Another five days of really easy workouts, and then one really long training day.

T-Minus 5 days...

Week two of the taper is done. Only one week left.

Are you ready? I am.

THUNK!

THUNK!

My bike shoes lock in the pedals and the cool morning bites my exposed skin. I pull onto John Nolen Lake Shore path and settle into my aero bars.

Splash! Splash! Splash! Three fish jump in unison in the lake, coordinated enough to make me think they're wishing me well on my morning ride. I passed early morning runners, fewer than during the week -- must be the holiday weekend. Saturdays are a good reason to sleep in.

But not for me. Mornings are my time. A co-worker commented that finding time to train for a marathon was hard in his life, let alone finding time for three sports. I told him it's all about 5 AM. I continue east on McCoy Road, my shadow growing in front of me. It' hard to believe that's me. I see my two legs imitating a set of pistons, cranking on the pedals as I settle into a nice pace. The wind whistles through me ears, but it's silent. There's no one around. For two hours, it's me and my bike. Just the way I like it.

T-Minus 7 days...