A Man of Iron

A Man of Iron

My Sherpa-Sweetie is fabulous.  She is unbelievably supportive and gets most of the credit for my Ironman success.  Laura, I love you. 

Many more need to be thanked.  The RAW and Trackie families were always there to listen, support, and encourage.  I’m grateful and thankful to each of you. 

Life can be cruel and unmerciful...

Many of us, myself included, have made resolutions that were never fulfilled, simply ignored, or contained loopholes to numerous to give meaning to the desired change.  Why I chose to stick to a particular resolution some 18 months ago remains a mystery.  I suppose that deep down a meaningful desire for change had taken root.

I swore to myself that if I ever said, “Oh Hell No!” in response to an untried activity, I must accomplish the task.  I found myself eating sushi, taking dance lessons, and rather regretting my prior stupidity and enjoying new-found interests.  That was until I made the inevitable wrong response to the question, “Do you think you will do an Ironman?”  Did my soul have conviction?  Surely this warrants a free pass?  I chose to fulfill my commitment to a new life and commence the one year plus journey.

I didn’t swim.  I possessed no swim gear.  I didn’t bike.  I only had a rusted commuter bike with big fat rotting tires and a frozen chain.  I am a runner.  A rather cocky smartass runner.  As my co-Ironman Michelle says, “You are one cocky m-f’er!”

A kind soul – Dan, helped me with the selection and build of a bike.  Lady Gold-Digger is an engineering beauty.  After eight months of riding we have come to accept our love-hate relationship.  LA Fitness did all they could, but to this day I still hate swimming.  At the end of each swim event at every triathlon I have done (there were four) I shout, “I HATE SWIMMING!!!!”            

I need to move this story along.  My blog, http://www.troyscrazysideofrunning.blogspot.com/ has a couple of road to Ironman stories that are worth reading.  I’m moving the story line to Arizona!

Emotions and second guessing filled the week before AZ.  There was plenty of self doubt.  I trained to hard.  I didn’t train enough.  The swim is going to kill me.  The constant pedaling on the bike will trash the legs.  The run will be my downfall. 

On Friday I arrive at Ironman Central for registration and the commencement of long waiting lines for everything.  There is too much free time for more second guessing.  What have I done?  Look at the distance of the swim!  Oh no, there is a crack in the road my tire is bound to hit!  Honestly, between Sherpa-Sweetie and the volunteers, there is a bunch a reassuring going on.  The volunteers, to a person, were there to ensure success for all athletes.  It is amazing how well they provided one-on-one personal support for each encounter.        

The Friday night athlete dinner and briefing turned out to be a little bit terrifying for the virgin Ironman.  For some perverted reason, the race officials thought it would be fun to show the swim start over and over and over…..  Not something I wanted to revisit every 30 seconds.  For me, the swim represents 1.75 hours of terror.  Every second of swim video depicts a slug fest in the making.  More than once Sherpa-Sweetie senses my self doubt and turns to ask if I’m alright.  She knows why I’m so quiet.  For a year I’ve said I can do this.  All I have to do is, “Get out of the water.”

Saturday morning is the practice swim.  I’m consumed with fear and nervous energy.  Who am I to be swimming with all these other athletes?  Getting in the water is a little unnerving and not something I fully appreciated.  Imagine a herd of wilder beasts being chased by a pack of lions.  The lions have the herd pinned on a cliff above a river.  All of a sudden the beasts all start jumping from the cliff into the water.  If you fail to freely jump in, the mass behind you shoves you in.  This is exactly what occurred for the practice swim and race day.  The water is soooooooo cold (62-63 degrees).  Needles are being jabbed into every millimeter of exposed skin.  Within seconds I’m being pummeled by other swimmers.  Panic starts to set in and I have to force myself to get the arms swinging.  By-Run’s Lean Horse mantra sets in, “Keep moving – forward progress.”  Finally, I’m pulled from the water onto the exit stairs.  The next day’s morning swim is weighing heavily on my thoughts.  “Just get out of the water, hopefully at the swim exit.”

Next up is TriBike Transport.  These guys are everything they advertised.  They are located beside bike transition; and are helpful, friendly, responsive, timely…. the whole package.  Well worth the money spent to ship Lady Gold-Digger and a gear bag.  The bike is in great shape for Saturday’s 10-15 minute joy ride.  She’s a thoroughbred in need of an expert rider.  I’ll just have to do.   

Race day starts early.  4 a.m. came mighty fast.  Breakfast, final gear check, and head out to the transition area with my Sherpa-Sweetie.  There was a little extra planning I had to complete without Laura noticing.  You see, Ironman day was also our one year of dating anniversary and deserved special treatment.  I wrapped a ring in tissue, placed the ring in a plastic sleeve, duct taped the plastic, and slipped the package into my morning gear bag.  This is going to be a big day:)

Transition is wild!  People are going crazy everywhere.  I make my way to the run and bike gear bags.  Everything is where it should be.  I slid the package into a running shoe and headed for Lady Gold-Digger.  The bikes are jammed into racks like sardines in a can.  I stock my bike nutrition bag with shot blocks and peanut butter sandwiches, fill the bottles with coke and Ironman Perform, check the air pressure, and say goodbye to Lady Gold-Digger.  I walk around the transition area in circles for a few minutes trying to comprehend the chaos.  Sherpa-Sweetie calls out from the railing.  A friendly face and a calming presence!  Perfect! 

Soon enough Michelle, Jason, and the Drum Squad appear.  It’s good to see so many friendly’s.  So many hugs, kisses, pictures, hand slaps, and good wishes.  All the things you want to set you on your way.  The athlete crowd begins moving towards the water.  Fear seeps its way into the belly.  “Just get out of the water.” 

I’m glad I did the practice swim.  The second jump into the soooooo cold water goes well.  On the short swim to the start I’m pummeled by surrounding swimmers.  I stopped swimming and the pummeling gets worse.  And then, I’ve finally had enough.  My inner voice says, “Do not be a victim!”  “Dish it out!”  “Be aggressive!”  This turns out to be a significant turn of events.                                

Swimmers are bobbing all around me like apples at a Halloween party.  I know what everyone is doing.  We are all literally peeing in our pants (wetsuits).  It’s disgusting.  One of the worse sensations I can now remember is urine bubbles trickling out of my wetsuit around the neckline of my wetsuit.  Forget swim training, this is what it takes to become an Ironman:)

We’re off!  Complete and total mass chaos has ensued.  Within seconds I have been punched, kicked, swam over, grabbed, and rammed.  I haven’t even made it to the start line yet!   “Do not be a victim!”  I start swimming defensively.  Long reaches with the hands.  Searching for contact with the body parts of others.  This helps, but it’s not enough.  There are too many swim bullies in the water.   “Dish it out!”  “Be aggressive!”  Within a few minutes I begin to take a new tact to group swimming.  You grab my right foot more than once – expect the left foot in your face.  If I make contact with your torso, expect to be pushed to the side with an elbow.  Feel like holding an arm or leg, expect a few frog kicks.  When I did get hit in the face I found myself saying, “Damn, that was a good one!” 

As fate would have it, my swim time coincided with a large mass of swimmers.  For 2.4 miles I never had a clear swim lane.  Because of the tight swim pack I rarely had to spot and swam the straightest line ever.  I even swam head-on into 3 buoys.  I thought I had been dealt a bad hand, only to discover I was holding four aces.  With my first step on dry land I faced the crowd and proclaimed, “I HATE SWIMMING!!!!”  This brings a cheer:)  A few feet away Sherpa-Sweetie is on the rail with a pep-kiss for luck:)  On race morning I predicted 1:40-1:45 would be a great time for me and my 7 months of swim experience.  On race day, for no good reason whatsoever, I turned in a 1:28.  I am amazed and astonished at the result.

Swim to bike transition goes well.  There are great volunteers at the stripper station, with the gear bags, and with the bike!  I avoided the changing tent altogether by wearing my trisuit during the swim.  I put on my bike gear outside the tent and avoided the mass of male hormones inside.  A quick stop with the sunscreeners and off to find Lady Gold-Digger.  By the way, the sunscreen stop is also disgusting.  Volunteers with rubber gloves dip their hands into vats of sunscreen lotion and rub one athlete after another down.  Not something I would do any other day of the year:)  Forget bike training, this is what it takes to be an Ironman.

A volunteer brings Lady Gold-Digger to me.  I made it out of the water, now she’s ready to roll.  Sherpa-Sweetie is on the bike-shoot rail to cheer me on.  She is an amazing woman.  The first part of the bike is fast.  Flat and smooth roads combined with an adrenaline rush from the crowd sets me off on a 19-20 mph pace.  The pace slowly fades as the course makes its way out of town and onto the Bee Line Highway.  Initially it’s a low grade incline (false flat) into a slight head wind.  The incline slowly increases, as does the wind speed, and I slowly decrease to 14-15 mph.  Before the top of the hill I spot Michelle.  She’s having a tough go right now and makes an amazing recovery during the race.  Half of me wants to ride with her and the other half is saying it’s time to move on.  We talk for a few seconds and then I pull away.  Whatever bug she had I managed to have right now.  Believe me, it must have totally sucked to do an Ironman event, and makes her finish even more incredible. 

It’s a free ride at the turn on the first loop.  I love the downhill, tailwind, and smooth road.  In an instant I’m doing 32-34 mph and loving the bike!  On the approach for loop two the Drum Squad and my Sherpa-Sweetie are whooping it up!  What a rush!  Back to the Bee Line Highway, Part 2.  Something’s different this time.  I’m holding 18-20 mph?  Damn I’m better than I thought!  I make the turn on Loop 2 and ut-oh, something’s wrong.  I should be doing 33 mph but I’m only doing 23-24 mph.  Then it hits me, WIND SHIFT!  No wonder I made it up the hill so fast:)  That’s ok, I’d rather have a tailwind uphill any day!  On the approach for loop three the Drum Squad and my Sherpa-Sweetie are being persistent cheerleaders!  Still a rush!  Back to the Bee Line Highway, Part 3.  It’s a slower go this time and I’m ready for the bike event to be over.  About 95 miles in I suck down 20 ounces of cola (magic in a bottle) and endure the remaining 17 miles.  My goal heading into race day was for me and my 7 months of cycling experience to break 6 hours (2 hours per loop).  It was a close call, my actual race day performance was 6:00:48. 

Bike to run transition also goes well.  Terrific volunteers at every step.  The bacteria laden sunscreen tubs are still there and used for a second time.  The package was where I left it in my running shoe.  I placed it in my trisuit and headed down the path.  During a pep-kiss from Sherpa-Sweetie a nearby course official made a joking remark about receiving an unfair aid advantage:)  I feel good and have a positive outlook.  Off I go for the first of three loops.  The first mile went well, sub 8 minute mile, and then I settled into a comfortable 8:15ish mile pace.  By the end of loop one I was beginning to struggle.  Dehydration, the sun, and heat were gaining an advantage.  At the beginning of Loop 2 Sherpa-Sweetie gives me another pep-kiss.  She could since a change in attitude and asked how I was doing.  My response, “It’s getting really hard to do this.”  I started a slow run down the path and in a mile began to walk.  I commenced a rapid decline between miles 9-13.  Luckily, I have visited the “Land of Suckney” on more than one ultramarathon.  I knew I needed to treat the remainder of the run as though it were a 50 mile event (walk every up no matter how small).  I knew I needed cola.  I started with the cola, only I didn’t take in enough and I ended up run-walking each mile.  Finally I realized I needed a LARGE QUANTITY of the magic potion.  At mile 12 I stopped at the cola table and drank cup after cup after cup of cola.  I managed to run all the way to the mile 13 aid station.  I stopped at the cola table and drank cup after cup after cup of cola.  I had become a runner again!  Only slowing down to walk each aid station and two hills on the back side of the course. 

While on Loop 2 another twist of fate, a flashing, and a third disgusting practice occur.  Around mile 13 my Garmin died.  Initially I was pissed.  In retrospect the absence of a watch proved to be fortuitous.  I focused on effort based running, whatever the pace, and didn’t have to worry about hitting my mile splits.  Karma soon rewarded my change in attitude.  A couple feet in front of me a cheering squad decided their athlete needed positive reinforcement.  One of the gals decided to go topless (massive hooters) and jog 30-40 yards with her athlete.  If only I had remembered to wear my glasses:).  Ever wonder what happens to aid station sponges?  It’s disgusting!  Runner 1 grabs a sponge and rubs their self down (head, neck, face, pits, chest, crotch…) and tosses sponge on the ground.  Volunteer 1 places used sponge back into the issue can.  Volunteer 2 hands used sponge to Runner 2 and the cycle repeats.  In Arizona there are 8 run aid stations.  Each aid station is passed 3 times by 2900 athletes.  There are 50 sponges per issue bucket.  Care to guess how many athletes used the same sponge?  Forget run training, this is what it takes to be an Ironman.          

I was in grand form at the beginning of Loop 3.  Sherpa-Sweetie recognized the change right away.  She reads me like a well read novel.  I handed off the defunct Garmin and my visor, received another pep-kiss, and I’m on my last loop.  I ran a terrific Loop 3.  I stuck with the walk the aid stations, drink the magic potion, and walk the two hills on the back side.  I also quit using the recycled sponges:)  My post race review of the Facebook posts were fun to read.  The TX trackers had counted me out during Loop 2.  It was exciting to relive the experience through reading their change in attitude during the recovery:)  How awesome is it to find out folks were huddled in Joe and Evelyn’s bedroom to watch the race results on a computer monitor?  Or that many others are tracking you online and making commentary on how you are doing?  Some even refused to conduct all their bathroom business because they might miss the finish (a true fan:))

On the back side of Loop 3, By-Run and the Ninja leaped out from behind a cactus.  Like I had the excess energy to be scared:)  They ran with me for a short while, whooping and hollering the whole time!  It was fun to have the company while it lasted.  By-Run’s appearance also solved a problem I was having with delivery of the package.  I was worried I would not be able to reach her down finisher’s lane or that she might be in the bleachers.  I asked, and By-Run ensured, Sherpa-Sweetie would be properly positioned at the finish area.  Not an easy feat given Sherpa-Sweetie’s best efforts to ignore By-Run’s pleadings.  With the logistics solved, all I had left to do was enjoy the final few miles.

The final mile goes by in a flash.  Hand slapping, waving arms, and all smiles.  I stopped at the turn for finisher’s lane.  I took the package out of my trisuit (I only checked to make sure it was there a 1000 times on the run).  I had expertly sealed the package and could not remove the duct tape.  I had a course marshal remove the tape for me.  Then I started fumbling with the contents.  Unwrapping the package was proving to be a challenge as well.  I had a couple spectators help me with the wrapping.  They were very excited to see the contents.

I moved quickly down finisher’s lane.  I almost ran right by Sherpa-Sweetie and the Drum Squad.  Laura reached out and grabbed me before I missed her completely:)  I stopped and said, “Laura, there’s something I need you to do before I become an Ironman.”  I dropped to one knee and asked her to marry me.  How Laura was able to laugh, cry, drop to her knees, nod her head, and say yes all at once is impressive:)  Her happiness means everything to me.  I love us and I love you Laura:)  

After 11 hours and 51 minutes, amidst the crowd of screaming and shouting fans, I hear the words, “Troy Pruett – You…  Are…  An…  IRONMAN!!!!”     

You know, sometimes life can be pretty darn good.

How Difficult Can This Be?

Once upon a time there was this good-looking over-confident guy who thought he could run.  “How difficult can this (running) be?”  He quickly discovered the best that could be done was a few hundred measly meters.  The handsome gent hid away for several months, self confidence shattered.  Somewhere deep inside he found his heart and eventually mastered the marathon, the 50K, the 50 mile, and even the 100 mile.  Now what was this gorgeous man to do?

 

The man with lovely locks of hair thought he could do an Iron Man.  “Easy enough,” he says.  “After all, I am an accomplished endurance runner,” he comments with a smug tone.  “How difficult can this (Iron Man) be?  I’ve run 21 plus hours.  The Iron Man is only a 10-12 hour event – half the time.”  No one ever said this alluring gent had any brains.

 

One would think the tall and increasingly well tanned phenom, would have learned a lesson or two after many failed trail-and-error episodes of, “How difficult can this be,” statements.  You would think Mr. Beautiful’s every dream turns into a haunting nightmare of, “How difficult can this be,” replays.  One of these days the pretty-boy might learn his lesson. 

 

I’m sure this sweet man will never forget his first swim.  “How difficult can this be?”  He says, “It’s only 25 meters to the end and I am wearing the best form fitting swim attire on the market.  If you look good, you will swim good.  Why I bet I can swim a mile without any difficulty whatsoever.”  In yet another self confidence shattering attempt, the sleek man propelled himself to the far end of the pool and back.  After 50 meters he stood in the pool with his slim upper body flayed on the pool deck like a beached whale.  With his chin on his fury chest and his long arms dragging behind him, he slowly got out of the pool.  I thought I heard the self-defeated man say to himself, “How difficult can this be?”  What did the jack-wagon expect to happen? 

 

You would think the pulchritudinous (I had to look it up in Webster’s myself, it means physical comeliness) man would learn a lesson wouldn’t you?  Not a chance.  The resplendent man still regrets his first bike ride.  “How difficult can this be?”  He says, “I have consulted with experts, found the perfect machine, and emptied my bank account.  I have acquired stunning attire.  If I look good, I will ride far.  Why I bet I can ride 100 miles without any difficulty whatsoever.”  What followed was yet another self confidence shattering attempt.  The dazzling man barley fit his feet into the pedals, spun the wheels feverously for 5 miles, and disgracefully dismounted from the machine.  Turns out the exquisite man’s buns of steel were, quite sadly, not made of steel.  His delicate shoulders slumped.  As he loaded the machine into the car I thought I heard the dejected man say to himself, “How difficult can this be?”  What an idiot.

 

The fairy tale is not all bad.  The ravishing man has managed to make remarkable progress in a relatively short time span.  With a lot of heart and effort, sprinkled with the love a Sweetie, the statuesque man has managed to conquer the swim and be the master of his machine.  A 2 mile swim is becoming a matter of routine and a 100 mile ride is almost boring (well it is boring). 

 

How difficult can this be?   Plenty! 

Shower Rules

Shower Rules

Iron man training has provided me with yet another assessment of life’s mysteries.  Given my great disdain for weight training, it never occurred to me that fitness centers (in this case LA Fitness) needed to develop “Shower Rules.”  During a recent visit I observed numerous disgusting and maybe perverted practices.

1.       You must cover yourself when walking to the showers.  Especially parts that flap in the breeze.

2.       LA Fitness has 10 showers.  Five on one side and 5 on the other.  When entering the shower area it is unacceptable to use a shower directly across from an occupied shower.  Especially when 9 of 10 showers are vacant.

3.       When using a shower you must pull the curtain closed.  Especially if you occupy a shower directly across from someone else.  I really don’t want to see you rubbing yourself down with soap.

4.       When you have finished your shower you must towel off in the shower, preferably with the curtain closed.  Air drying by walking nude around the locker room is strictly prohibited.    

5.       This is important, no bending over with your naked backside facing the aisle to put your socks on.  Sit on the bench like all the others.  This is especially true if near the entrance or exit doors.  No one wants an uninvited face full of ass. 

Remember Your First Time?

I’m a few days from my first triathlon.  Knowing I trained too much or not enough.  Knowing and not knowing, all at the same time, what I can expect and what I can accomplish.  The anticipation of something new makes me think back on my first race.

I ran track for two weeks my freshman year in high school.  Oh, I’d like that opportunity again.  Not all the other crap, but the opportunity to replay running as a 13 year old athlete.  My school had one distance runner on the track team – a Junior (Paul).  Like many schools in my area, the track team was a way for football coaches to keep their players fit in the off season.   Runners were an unnecessary distraction.  Paul was not a football player, he was a runner.  I didn’t know this for a long time, but during Paul’s Sophomore year he ran under well under 5 minute miles and was truly feared by area distance runners. 

My first day of track the football coach spots this tall, 130 pound when wet, scrawny-ass punk hanging around.  I’m sure he rapidly deduced I was not football material.  He didn’t ask my name or why I was there.  He said, “Go with Paul.”  In less than 30 seconds I had become the Number 2 man on the “Distance Team.”  What did I do on Day 1 with Paul?  We ran 10 miles.  Paul took it easy on me.  He never said a word, but I ran the distance.  No watches, no cares, no worries.  Just Paul, me, and my black high top Converse shoes.  Paul and I repeated this run over the next 4 days. 

During Week two we had 2 track meets.   When the mile event came up during the first meet the coached told me to, “Go with Paul.”  So, I ran with Paul – like always, not knowing Paul was a running super star.  Either I hung with Paul for two laps or he was taunting me.  I still don’t know.    I do know I worked on my “fading with grace” techniques for the final two laps.  My high tops and I ran a 5:04 on a dirt track that day. 

I gave up running that week.  No one ever said if I did well or sucked.  The football coach was really pissed when I didn’t show for week three of track.   I was more determined than ever to not run because of the football ass.  It was years before I realized that I had missed what may have very well been a golden opportunity.   It’s funny and a little sad how we look at opportunity when revealed.    

IM Training Part 1 - The Bike

IM Training Part 1 – The Bike

I have been somewhat bored after completing quite a few crazy runner stunts.  I started thinking, “What other crazy-stupid things are out there for me to complete?”  I know, “An Ironman!”

As luck would have it, an IM is turning out to be a really crazy-stupid thing to do.  I selected IM Arizona.  It is in November when it is cool in AZ.  Smart thinking – right?  WRONG!!!!  The trouble with fall endurance events is the training occurs in hottest possible time of the year.  T-minus 20 training week starts July 2.  Oh my…., I didn’t think about that…,  How stupid could I be….  I figure I’m about as stupid as a barefoot runner.  I don’t understand why these freaks of nature have such a strong desire to revisit caveman days.  Not only did barefoot cavemen run barefoot, they also ate raw and decaying meat off mammoth carcasses because they didn’t have fire.  After they discovered how to use fire do you think they ever thought, “To hell with fire, me like raw red meat?”

Since beginning the IM bike training adventure I have discovered a few things.  Some hazardous, some humorous, and some just so stupid you have to laugh.  Let’s begin:

Butterflies:  Butterflies are beautiful as you run through a green meadow.  You may have even commented on how pretty they are to nearby runners.  Butterflies take on a whole new meaning at 20-30 mph.  Butterflies are like bullets zooming past your head.  I truly dislike pulling butterfly parts out of my fleshy checks after a ride.

Bottles:  I am certain the bottle companies have conspired to only manufacture bottle holders that will not hold a bottle.  The number of bottles on the side of the road during a bike rally is incredible.  That said, bikers manage to pull off two really stupid maneuvers during a “dropped bottle event.”  First is the biker that immediately hits the brakes, coming to a screeching halt in the middle of a pack of riders.  You know who you are.  Holy crap, will you please not do this anymore!   Remember the Frogger arcade game?  This is the other stupid maneuver.  You must be a complete idiot to drop your bike on the side of the road and then attempt to avoid speeding cyclists in your haphazard dash across the road to fetch your dropped bottle.  Idiot!

Pedal Clips:  Pedal clips are some sadistic bastard’s way of inflicting pain on the innocent.  Remember when you were a kid learning to ride a bike?  If you were a little off balance or needed real braking power you just put your foot (feet) down.  Not anymore.  Now you just fall over and break a collar bone.

Heat Stroke:  What’s worse, passing out a Chipotle after a 20 mile run (see “score one for the heat” blog) with a 105 degree heat index or passing out while riding your bike in 100 degree weather?  Hmmm.

Slow Bike Pace:  I now have an understanding of my “slow bike pace.”  Slow is anything below my half marathon PR pace.  Essentially, anything below 10 miles per hour is a complete disgrace.  If you can’t stay above 10 miles per hour then my advice is to stay home and drink beer.  Do us all a favor.

Sun Screen:  Think you put on enough sun screen?  You didn’t. Think you can trust others to properly apply sun screen to places you cannot reach?  You can’t.  My advice is that bike events should have a play-pool full of sun screen for participants to roll around in before starting.

Calories:  I think a woman developed the calories burned scale to discriminate against males (I’m sure my friend CC will agree with this comment).  I finish a 100 mile ride and Daily Mile indicates I burned 4200 calories.  My sweetie finishes a 40 mile ride (using less effort) and Daily Mile indicates she burned 2600 calories.  Sweetie’s equivalent for a 100 mile ride would be 6200 calories.  Ladies, you are only deceiving yourselves.

Karma:  At the finish of my first century ride in Wax-a-hoocie, two soon-to-be acquaintances sprinted by me in the final 20 yards.  Drum and Ninja, Karma is a bitch and she just wrote your names down.