Recently in Mind Games Category

Since my last post, I noticed in a couple of runs that I let my mind wander while working out. Just like I did during Crazylegs - where my first thought when Michelle ran away from me was that we never talked about where to meet up after the race - I am never totally focused on the task I'm doing. I'm easily distracted, always following whatever my mind comes up with next. I see the same thing in my 18-month old. You tell her to bring back her hair brush, and along the way she reads a book, talks to her doll, and eventually brings you a stuffed animal that was in the next room. Totally how my mind seems to work. It's like we're on the same wavelength, except that's normal for people her age.

So my new mantra is "In the moment." It's a reminder that I need to be mindful and stay focused on where I am, what I'm doing, and how I'm doing it. I can feel a difference when I remind myself that I'm running. My back straightens, my stride shortens, and my speed picks up without any extra effort. On the bike, my pedal strokes become more circular, my head stays up, and my breathing calms. I hope to keep this going at the Lifetime Minneapolis race tomorrow. I'm going to need something special to have a good day.

[If you feel like tracking me via txts, I'm #909.]

I know that what this journalist was feeling at a time trial happens a lot at triathlons:

"Every racer, man or woman, looked like a serious athlete. Almost everyone had aero bars -- special handlebars that look like horns and allow you to crouch into an aerodynamic position. Many had aero helmets, which are designed to decrease air resistance, as well as aero wheels, which reduce the drag on your bike. Almost everyone was a member of a cycling team or club.

We had none of this special equipment. We were not on a team. My heart sank -- what had we signed up for?"

It's called defensive pessimism, and consists of "downplaying your ability and expectations." That way, if you do poorly you are not crushed, and if you do better than you expected, "you get this payoff," said John S. Raglin, a sports psychologist at Indiana University.

He goes on to say that both confident and pessimistic athletes complete equally and that this behavior even keeps people from going to the gym to exercise. It's really all about the first step and seeing it through to the end:

"The next day the race organizers posted the results.

What a surprise. I came in sixth out of the eight women. And I beat two men and tied with one. Bill beat six men and six women.

Of course, we were still at the bottom of the heap, but instantly our moods changed. We should do this again, Bill said. Only we should train, get aero bars and race again in the spring. Yes, I agreed. I'd love to see what we could do.

How weird. From despair to hope, just because we did better than we thought we did."

Remember the wager I had with Stu? Not long after NOLA, he sent me his first letter. In case you can't read it, this is what it says.

Rob

(1) Rob is, at least at NOLA, faster than Stu!
(2) Stu was slower than Rob at NOLA!
(3) In general, Rob is better than (at least at NOLA) Stu :)

Oh...how this hurts. Time for me to sign up with Coach Hillary Biscay. Only 5 more to go!

[Signed] Stu

[On Envelope flap] This Hurts. I want a rematch

Unlike my pal Michelle (who also beat Stu), I'm going to post every single one of the six I'm owed. But, we're working to see if we can't meet up for another race sometime this year. I'll gladly have the rematch and even up the stakes, if necessary. Bring it.

Unknown to me, it was 85° out with a dewpoint of 68. Good conditions for a interval run -- NOT! My body told me so about four-tenths of a mile into my second of three mile intervals.

I struggled through the first one and significantly missed my scheduled pace of 6:30/mile. Immediately starting the second I felt weak. I fought off the overwhelming need to stop for only so long. I caved at 0.51 miles and rested, fighting for any breath I could manage.

And then when I convinced myself to start up again, my legs didn't respond. Empty and weak, I fought to continue running, no matter what the pace. That's when I got a touch dizzy and felt my face get flush with heat. I stopped my watch and quit the workout and started walking home, overheated and frustrated.

After I cooled down and thought about what I was doing to myself, I looked again at the training paces and corresponding marathon goal pace and realized my mind was writing checks the body simply couldn't cash. Why did I ever think that a 3:23 marathon was possible? Some day maybe, just not now.

So I'm retooling and re-timing. With a new goal and set of paces, I'll be able to meet my training times (hopefully), which keeps from getting frustrated mentally, and best yet, allow my body to see another week. I should've done it after the first week, but I blamed the blisters and not the pace. Let's hope the next 11 weeks works out.

Tapering makes me a bit jittery. I'm at work, bouncing my leg, totally distracted by one thing, then the next. And the storms last night don't help.

At 3 AM, Kris is standing by the window, silhouetted by the lighting that is basically one continuous flash. Her Ooohs! and Ahhhs! wake me up. And then we lose power. We fumbled for the flashlight and a hand-crank powered radio to see what the news is. Nothing. No warning beeps or interruptions. Just music. (Since when does a radio station play music? I thought they just play commercials.)

I toss and turn for another hour. Then, just as I'm about to drift off, the power kicks on and I wake up to set the clocks back to normal. And then spend some time getting back to sleep.

The storms are still rolling through in the morning and the pool isn't open. And the lightning doesn't make it safe to run either. Especially when trees are getting struck.

I'm off to swim at lunch, and then I'll fit the run in before softball tonight. Sometime in there I still have to pack for the race and the weekend in Racine.

Taper sucks.

The plow scraping the pavement this morning woke me. Snow was forecast, but if the plows were already out before 6, that meant we got too much for me to get to the pool. Almost instantly, my body tried to convince me not to go.

"Come on...It's one day...The snows too deep. You'll never get there."

Now the alarm was going off. Disarming it, I looked out the window to check on the snow. Clear pavement. Damn, those trucks are good. The mind took over and told what the body to do:

"Hey, we've got an Alumni Swim meet in a week. You can't sleep! Let's skip the snooze and get ready so we have enough time to brush the snow off the car."

Finding the motivation has been difficult in this infant second season. The mornings are dark. The days are short. The weather is cold. All contribute to indoor, monotonous, tedious training sessions. Part of the challenge of the race is not the race itself, but all the effort that goes into getting to the starting line.

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...

I walk to work each morning with a well known secret. I know that in a week, the same streets I use to get to work will be teeming with fit triathletes. The unsuspecting throng of 8 to 5ers continue their zombie walks into work. They think next week will be like this week, only one day shorter. But I know a secret. I know that men with shaved legs and women cut with furious muscles will descend on downtown Madison like they own the place.

The throng will munch on their donuts and stare at all the fit folks. The streets will go through their own makeover. Banners will go up on the light poles, bleachers will be erected, buoys placed in the lake. The throng will forget last year and ask, "What's going on?" Meanwhile, a little village forms at the Monona Terrace. Tents will showcase the latest advancements in Ford vehicles, the latest in carbon fiber, and even set up an "endless pool." More than 2,000 fit folks eagerly stop at all the tents in the village, taking a keen interest in foreign words like gel, salt tablets, hyponatremia, bricks, PRs, GTG vs. USAT. They make new friends and reacquaint with old ones. As Sunday draws near, there's something growing behind their eyes: Fear. Fear of my secret. For no matter how many times you've done it, it is never easy.

I too fear the secret. The secret is Ironman.

With each passing day, my fear grows. After each workout, I overcome the fear, increasing my confidence. I rode the loop of the bike course one final time last Saturday. I was fearful of my knee, of the gravel on the roads, of the hills. Lots of doubt raced through my head. With each passing mile, my knee strengthened, the gravel was packed and the hills climbed. Fear? What Fear?

T-Minus 10 days...

The live video feed from IM Canada is showing all the finishers from today's race. I've been watching for the past hour. The announcer works feverishly to announce each and every name of the successful racers. Some cross with their hands raised. Some cross with their hands clutching their kids, husbands, wives, dads, and moms. Some cross and immediately put their hands on their knees. Some cross and immediately collapse. Some cross and congratulate a new friend met on the course. All cross the line. All finish. All are Ironman.

In only two weeks, I aim to cross that same line. (A photo of it is atop the workouts section of RobbyB.com.) When things got tough training out on the course, I have closed my eyes, imagined that line and everyone along the finishing chute. Then, the hills don't seem so big anymore, the miles aren't as long, the legs flow freely.

It's all about that line. My hands will be raised, my smile proud, and my body tired. I will get there.

I will.

T-minus 13 days...

The small birch tree rustles in the wind above me. Gentle waves crash into the rocky shoreline. In three weeks, where I sit, watching boats play on Lake Monona, there will be a large, Civil War era cannon. The dock that extends from the shore will hold the national anthem singer and guest starter for the fourth annual Ironman Wisconsin triathlon. The wall behind me will be teeming with family, friends and curious onlookers. Triathletes will bid nervous good-byes, which returned by encouragement of strength, speed, luck, some through tears. They will make their way out to Lake Monona, ready to begin a day that will change the rest of their lives.

If they survive the day, they will reach a level of accomplishment that very few will ever know. They will be Ironmen. If they fail to reach the finish line, they will have been defeated by one of the toughest individual endurance events. But that won't stop them, they will strive to get to that finish line another day.

In three weeks, I will be attempting to join this exclusive company. I will say my own nervous good-byes, and wade into water to start my version of a 140.6 mile journey with 2,000 other people.

I've done all that I can up to this point. Though the last three weeks didn't go as planned, I can do nothing at this point to make up for it. The next three weeks will be spent resting tired muscles. I will continue to prepare my mind, crossing the finish line over and over again, and then one more time to be sure. "What the mind perceives, the body achieves."

T-Minus 21 days...