Something to get off my Chest

Its not that I really want to destroy things, its just that I really struggle with anxiety. I guess it started a few years ago, when she entered my life.
Life was simple. Yes, I cried myself to sleep almost every night, but that was normal for a guy my age. What do you expect? I mean, seriously, I'm from a large family. Dad was a little distant, but we've kind of come to accept that. I was stripped from them early on and became somewhat of an only child. This new guy was pretty cool, but he was gone all the time. That still upsets me. I learned to manage on my own, and have even begun to enjoy my new lifestyle. I was the king. I could melt people with a glance. I was even known to stop traffic with my good looks. Life was good, and then she arrived.
She was nice at first, a little standoffish, but nice. I would never tell her this, but she looked like she had lived a hard life. She cried sometimes, and I could even hear her talk about it in her nightmares.
It was good to have a friend, finally. I really didnt realize how lonely I was until she came along. I had a new best friend. And I think she liked me too! She took great interest in my ability to catch a frisbee, little did I know she was actually taking notes.
Shortly after she arrived they made me have surgery. I'm still not comfortable discussing it, so lets move on.
My food rations were now shared, but that was okay. She seemed to respect my space, I was learing to accept hers. But things have changed.
She abuses me. She bites me and makes me cry. I can't get into bed without her growling at me. And worse, she won't let me play frisbee anymore. Every time I try to catch it, she bites my neck and makes me cry. I give up. She can have the damn frisbee...its just not worth it anymore.
I was born on Christmas day. Pretty cool, huh? Not really. It actually blows. They leave for the holidays so I usually get stuck with some lousy housesitter who really doesnt know a thing about me and locks me in the hall while he sleeps in my bed. They wonder why I destroy things, ha. Happy birthday to me.
I would never tell them this, but I hate Arizona. I am hot all of the time. And the desert, well, they can have it. I went to Texas once. I can't say too much without getting choked up, but it really is the promised land.
This time of year just kills me. Forget the heat, my allergies are out of control. They think its funny, too. I know, I know, I know, it does look like I'm dancing when I spin around on my back side, but imagine if you had an itch you couldnt reach. Yeah, you'd have to get resourceful too. Thank God for shag.
I don't have many friends. The truth is, I dont like my own kind. There, I said it. Sue me.
Overall I'm a happy guy, I guess. Life can get a little monotonous at times, but I'm learning to sleep more. I hope they'll pay more attention to me. That's kind of what keeps me going. I really am a nice guy. Yes, I know, I can be a little annoying, its just that I really am so happy to see you. There's no need for you to be so rude about it.
So anyway, I feel better now. It was good to get these things off my chest.

ss.

A Numbers Game ...

Donald Rumsfeld briefed the President this morning.

He told Bush that 3 Brazilian soldiers were killed in Iraq.

To everyone's amazement, all of the color ran from Bush's face.

Then he collapsed onto his desk, head in hands, visibly shaken, almost whimpering.

Finally, he composed himself and asked Rumsfeld,

"Just exactly how many is a brazillion?"

A new day

The bed was feeling especially warm and comfortable this morning when the alarm rang. Friday morning, finally. As much as I dislike sleeping in, today I could make an exception. The motivation to roll out of bed was not helped by the yellow lab sleeping next to me. He hates the alarm clock even more than I do. Simultaneously we let out a groan and decide to start our day. I hear thumping on the floor as I make my way around the bed. Waiting patiently for me is a hundred pound Mastiff who spent the night on patrol barking at neighbors, unwelcome noises, and plastic bags. She has become nocturnal. With my canine friends, I stumble bleary eyed into the kitchen to feed the three of us. I love this time of day. The neighborhood is asleep.
The 101 was moving fast this morning, a welcome surprise after a long hot week in traffic. NPR has a segment on the new interest rate hikes and how it will affect the wealthy. A certain group is not happy about this...guess who.
The elevator ride into my office is slow and long. I feel melancholy. Didnt I do this yesterday? Carol greets me at the front desk and we both promise that there has been 10 work days in this week. The twisting curved hallways of the building lead me to my office. According to my HR department, I've been made this trek for 3 years, 3 months, and 23 days.
Three years and it still excites me to open my email. A little coffee to suppress my hunger, a new day has begun.

Saturday, May 6

6:00am

I wake to the sounds of nervous chatter, of bike shoes in loose gravel, of water bottles being filled to the brim with sugary fuel. Its time. I roll out of bed, careful not to wake my sleeping bunkmates in a crowded RV, slip on a shirt and sandals, and step outside to check the weather. It's cool, almost cold. The air is moist with fog coming off the ocean. It's going to be a good day. Final race preparations were made last night. I brush my teeth, throw my pack on my back, and head to the water.

7:00am

The energy of a transition area is almost tangible. You can almost smell the combination of testosterone and caffeine in the air. I do my best to efficiently set up my gear. Did I remember my goggles? Am I hydrated? Will I cramp? Did I train hard enough? Did I rest enough? The answers are about to come.

8:14am

Coldplay is playing on a loud speaker. The music, the crowds, the thoughts of anticipation pouring through my head...deafening.

8:15am

Gun fire. I run to the water...a sea of chaos with 100 bodies around me. Arms and legs everywhere. 100 bodies crammed together going from a vertical position to horizontal. Geometrically, it doesnt work. I fight, kick, punch, and do the best I can to find my own space of calm water. Then suddenly, silence. It's a stark contrast to go from an environment of sensory overload, to a place of pitch black where all you hear is the soft, rhythmic sound of your hand hitting the water.


splash......splash.......splash......Wildflower has begun.

8:30am

splash......splash......splash......I have found my rhythm. I've relaxed and can now enjoy the race. Swimming is a time of great solitude. I do some of my best thinking during a long swim. I think about my family. I wish they could see me. I think about my friends. I'm glad that they are here. I think about my dogs and how I wish they could be swimming beside me.

8:55am

The waters edge is quickly approaching. Thoughts of the bike begin racing through my head. Solo time is over....the bike is where the race really begins.









9:00am

From the water I strip off my wetsuit, slip on my bike shoes, and mount my bike. As I'm leaving the race area I hear the race announcer scream my name over the loud speaker as if I'm a well-known athlete. It felt good and was just what I needed to send me out onto the brutal bike course.



9:30am

Relentless...thats the only word I can use to descibe this course. You can never get comfortable here. I am either constantly grinding up a hill or working just as hard to maneuver the bike down the other side. 56 miles of this. Over the first hour on the bike I feel terrible. I feel heavy, thats the only way I can describe it. Every crank of the pedal is an effort. It's going to be a long day.

I have a predetermined nutrition plan that I must follow throughout the day. Since I will burn almost 8,000 calories, I must take in at least half of that if I want to finish. The majority of this is done on the bike. The feast begins on mile 6 and continues to mile 50. As I ride I am force feeding myself energy drinks, Gels, Shot Bloks, and Clif bars.

11:00am

I feel great. My nutrition strategy is working, I have found my rhythm. I go into the aero position, put my head down, and hammer. Wineries, vinyards, old farm houses, beautiful cows, they all blow by me as I make my way across the country side. The fields are full of wildflowers of every color, hence the name.

11:30am

I approach the dreaded mile 40. This begins the legendary "Nasty Grade". It's an infamous 7 mile hill that gets steeper and steeper as you approach its summit.

11:40am

My speed drops to 10mph. The grinding is in full force now. As I look up the hill the athletes seem to not be moving. Everyone is in slow motion as we all push our limits to find how strong we really are.

11:50am

7 mph. My quads begin to seize up. I have to shift from a standing to seated position every 10 pedal strokes to prevent a complete cramp.

11:58am

6mph. The summit in sight, an old man dressed as the energizer bunny is on the side of the road yelling "Welcome to the top of Nasty Grade!" He has been doing this for years and has become a fixture in this race. As much as I was suffering at that point, I had to laugh.

12:15pm

My legs are fried. With Nasty grade behind me and only a few miles to ride in front of me, I begin to think about running a half-marathon.

1:00pm

I am several miles into the run and fatigue begins to set in. Not only physical fatigue, but mental fatigue, and even a little emotional fatigue. I begin to break down. All motivation is gone. All I keep saying to myself is "this is stupid. This is so stupid". I have visions of selling my bike, melting my wetsuit, and completely retiring from this sport. Luckily, I have enough race experience to know that this breakdown would come, as it has before...so I had a plan. My strategy for the run was to dedicate each mile of the run to someone in my life. For that mile I would pray for them and think about memories I have with them....it worked. I got choked up at a few points in the race...it got me a long way.



2:00pm

Mile 7 is the best part of the entire race. It goes through the heart of the campgroud where 30,000 spectators line the road as you run past. Think Tour de France. As I approach, huge crowds would erupt in a roar of support and encouragement. I looked over my shoulder to see who they are yelling at, no one there...its me...every eye is on me. Even now as I write this my eyes well up with tears thinking about the emotion pumping through my body at that point in the race. This is exactly what I needed.

2:09pm

Out of the bushes pop Steve and Jeff with a video camera. They run along with me, interviewing me as we jog. I dont even remember what I said, it was just so great to see them after a long day. The interview was cut short due to Steve developing a cramp.



2:11pm

The course takes a sharp turn into the woods. The crowds are gone. I'm all alone. All I hear is the tap of my shoes against the dirt. No words of encouragement, no final boosts of energy. I'm all alone with 4 twisting miles standing between myself and the finish line. No one is talking, there is no music. I'm not racing anyone. It's not me against a clock. It's me against myself. How strong am I? How much punishment can my body take? Where is my breaking point? These next 4 miles are all about answering these questions.

2:30pm

I am suffering. 'Why am I doing this?' 'This is really stupid.' A small down hill allows me to gather my strength and push myself the final 2 miles. Aid station...I take some Gatoraid and a cup of ice water to pour over my head. Out of the bushes come Steve and Jeff again with a brand new set of interview questions. They run along me for about 30 seconds until Jeff develops shin splints. Again, my spirits were lifted and I began to realize that I was almost finished.





3:05pm

Thousands of people line the finish chute. I hear my name over the loud speaker. Months of training and hours of suffering are all justified. This long day is over.

7:05

Well, my hips hurt bad right now. The ligament on the outside of my right knee is swollen and makes it hard to walk. I have an open sore on the back of my neck from my wetsuit, and my shoulders and upper back are killing me. Wildflower was less than 48 hours ago, and it continues to haunt me. It chewed me up and spit me out...but what a way to go! Its took me 20 minutes longer this year to complete the course..but its one of those races where you are just glad to finish and have a medal around your neck at the end of the day. A full race report is on its way. See ya soon...

bs.

Wildflower

"Racing Wildflower is like wrestling a gorilla. You can't stop when you get tired. You can only stop when the gorilla gets tired"

Alright, the time has come for me to put my efforts of the past three months to the test. Saturday morning I will be racing Wildflower. Wildflower is a beast. It's a half-Ironman distance triathlon in California's wine country. Last year was my first Wildflower attempt. I finished in 6hrs 43mins....it felt much longer than that. It was 6 hours of suffering. The factor that makes Wildflower so tough is the hills. For the entire bike and run, you are either grinding up a mountain, or bombing down the other side at 50+ mph. 7,000 people will be racing this weekend, with another 20,000 watching. It is an unbelievable race environment. Over the past 25 years, Wildflower has become the Mecca of Triathlon. Any triathlete who is serious about the sport either has, or will make the pilgrimage to this wild event. The closest town is 50 miles away, so there will be almost 30,000 people camping out. It's known as the woodstock of Triathlon.


I read an article describing the race like this:
"Racing Wildflower is like listening to a stereo. At first you've got a steady beat, then the tempo and volumn rise as you wind your way deeper into the twisting 70.3 mile course. By the time you are near the finish the stereo is a full volumn, blasting the life out of you as you come screaming down the mountain into the finish chute...this is Wildflower."