Writing is taking me in a direction I didn’t think it would so I am spending more time on Rant and Roll.

I will always be the Slowguy.

D

I discovered the severity of my marshmallow physique in the reflection of a car window. The blue and white Pearl Izumi jersey I normally wear on road bike rides accentuated the softness of my shape. Mountain bike jerseys are loose while road bike jerseys are tight and aerodynamic. The last time I wore the blue and white jersey it fit me perfectly because I was training for Ironman Augusta. I no longer train thirty hours a week while eating balanced meals. Now my diet is frappuccinos and thin mints and exercise is an afterthought. Ironman has transformed into the Marshmallow Man.

I began my ride on Mosquito Bite trail at Blanket Creek. The Bite, the beginner area, is the easiest of the trails. The few hills are not technical or steep. In the past, this trail served as my warm up ride. Today however, I used maximum effort to make it to the top of the easy hills. I was breathing harder than expected when I finished the beginner trail.

I rode to the Dwelling loop, a four-mile intermediate trail that I ride all the time. The entrance to the loop is twisting, uphill, root covered with several hills to climb along the way. Early in the ride, I was gasping and the difficult climbs were still ahead of me. I dismounted the bike on two occasions to push it up a hill. Half way up one of the longer climbs my legs were burning; I did not have the strength to continue.

Near the end of the ride, I heard a rider gaining on me. Recalling the primal instinct of survival I attempted to elude my pursuer. I could not escape because I lacked the drive, strength and power to do so. There was nothing I could do to avoid being run down by the speedy and superior rider behind me.

When the rider caught up to me, I surrendered and moved to the right allowing the rider to pass me. The rider did not have the build of a mountain bike racer. Nor did he resemble one of the weekend warriors that ride for hours on Saturday. The rider that bested me looked like Santa Claus in age and appearance.

I rode to the parking lot despondent and depressed. After throwing my bike in the back of my truck, I took out my notebook to record my feelings. I did not want to forget how I felt on this ride. I wrote about the jersey making me look like a chicken potpie, and the difficulty I had riding my bike. I wrote extensively about the jolly old elf making me eat his dust.

I read my notes and promised to make changes: I will exercise frequently, eat healthier and rededicate myself to becoming the Ironman I once trained to be.

I will begin this tomorrow for today I am stopping at Starbucks for a Venti Java Chip Frappuccinio.

Bunny - come out to play

Endurance sports mimic the wolf chasing the rabbit minus the killing and eating.  Sometimes I am the wolf and others times I am the rabbit.  I hated being the rabbit until a Saturday morning ride provided a new experience.

While riding the Dwelling at Blanket Creek, I approached a group of riders that had just completed their first lap.  They were resting on their bikes and talking to each other.

“You guys can go,” I suggested.

“No, you go,” offered one rider.

“Yeah, we need a rabbit,” a third added.

I am the rabbit?   I thought.

A wolf pack announced their intention to run me down.  The riders sized me up and felt they could catch me.  They should have just said, “we don’t know you, we’ve never seen you ride, but yes we are faster than you.”

I did not know how to handle the challenge.  Part of me wanted to take it easy as I had planned.  The riders could pass me and I would be OK because I was just out for a fun ride.  The other part bristled at the arrogance in announcing I was their rabbit.  I wanted to ride so fast they would never catch me.

Why chase me?

I heard them coming after about a hundred yards.  I was climbing an uphill section that curves left followed by a twisting,

fast descent. I looked back and saw them entering the bottom of the climb, laughing as they chased me.  It was the last time I would look back; I made my decision and rode away.  I rode harder and faster than I ever had in my life.

Sometimes I might pick up the pace in a half-hearted attempt to escape the rider behind me.  After a short time, I would move over to let the faster rider pass me.  I believed that if you saw the person in front of you then the catch was eminent.  It has always proven true if I was wolf or rabbit.  Until that Saturday, I believed the wolf was in control.  Maybe on most days it is still true, but this was not most days.

I rode the Dwelling in 19 minutes smashing my average time of 24 minutes.  I may never ride that perfectly again. My average heart rate was around 185. I hammered up hills and I hammered down hills.  I was taking turns faster than I thought possible.  Only once did my tires begin to slide in a turn. I reacted instinctively and quickly regained control.  I did not roll over the logs I jumped them.  It was the most fun I have ever had on a bike.

Come get some.

I stopped and waited for the guys at the bottom of the trail.  By the time they made it out, my breathing had returned to normal.  “Thanks, that was fun,” I said before going up for my next lap.

I know most of the time other riders will catch me.  Maybe one time in fifty I will outrun the wolves.  The feeling of staying

out in front is so addictive I will risk losing if it means I can win.

I am rabbit catch me if you can.

Ice on road

in the snow again.

Unfortunately, Mother Nature changed my plans.  When the snow began to fall Friday afternoon it melted when it hit

the ground.  After several hours, the melted snow soaked the streets.  The snow continued falling and the temperature continued to drop.  Saturday morning the streets in my neighborhood were ice.  I made the easy decision not to drive and risk crashing my truck.

I put on my trail shoes and went for a run on the snow-covered sidewalks.  I ran on the sidewalks like I would on a trail:  shortened my stride, slowed down and looked where I stepped.

Brooks trail shoes rock

Being from Florida I did not know what to expect from running in the snow.  I have read several articles in Runner’s World about snow running but the experience is much different.  The sound of snow crunching under my feet was very relaxing.  The only sketchy parts were crossing the roads.  Often I could hear the ice cracking under my feet when I stepped into the street.

I ran 5 miles at a slower pace than normal.  Surprisingly I did not see any other runners in the morning.  Next time I hope to trail run in the snow, that would be awesome.

The trail was a blast to ride – the snow made everything look so clean.  Yesterday only four riders were out – I could count the tracks.  This morning I was the only person on the Dwelling.

It was a bit tricky in places were there were roots and rocks.  I realized very quickly that I had to roll over obstacles straight on or my tires would slide.  I didn’t crash and only had a few foot dabs.

I know beyond a doubt that I need to live in a place that embraces snow sports and an active outdoor lifestyle.

more photos form SORBA

If you hold the pointer over my pictures it will show you a title.  Some of the captions loaded – some didn’t.  I am hungry and will mess with it late.

I won’t comment on the organization of the event.  I won’t confirm or deny that the aide stations ran out of water.  I can’t say with accuracy that a team of lobotomized orangutans may have organized the race, because I wasn’t there.

I wasn’t there because a doctor told me to not go.  The doctor felt having the H1N1 virus could negatively impact my race performance.  I chose to do the right thing – to not go.  To go would have meant I could have potentially caused injury to myself or another athlete. I also could infect others that I encountered during my stay in Augusta.  I did the right thing – PEM chose not to.

PEM has a no refund policy.  No refunds no matter what.  It is a great way for them to line their pockets with money but doesn’t really do much to promote the sport.

Recently I read about the Revolution 3 Triathlon series.  They also feature a 70.3 race.  Their refund policy is different than PEM’s – they have one!  While they don’t offer cash refunds they offer a credit for another race.  There are time requirements to let the organization know if you can’t make it.  If you have an illness or emergency near the race time the race director will evaluate the situation.

That is all I wanted.  Somebody to evaluate the situation.  I offered the note form the doctor.  PEM didn’t care – they stuck to their policy.  There are some race organizations that care.  PEM doesn’t.

PEM still sucks.

As the rider drew near I looked up to tell him that I was OK when he inquired if I needed help.

Instead the rider continued past without even looking at me.  He was a younger rider wearing headphones and obviously didn’t know that mountain bikers always inquire about the condition of any rider they see stopped.  This guy just rode away from me without even acknowledging my presence on the trail.

I could not stand for this.  There was no way I would allow this punk kid to breach the unwritten code of trail riding etiquette.  I had to teach him a lesson.

“Release the hounds!” The chase had begun.  I rode at a slightly faster than normal pace for about a mile and a half before I caught sight of the scoundrel.  I could hear his brakes squealing as he went down the hills and into turns. I knew I had him.

I began thinking about how I would administer the punishment for violating the “need help” rule.  I could just blow by him on a climb.  No, that could be risky because I might tire myself out.  Maybe I’d roll up on his wheel and yell “on your left!”  No, that would just be rude.  The cartoon light bulb over my head lit up:  I would ride up to his wheel and then back off.  I would continue doing this again and again until he learned his lesson.  It would show him I am so superior that I can catch and release at will!  His ego, confidence and soul would be mine to crush!  It didn’t occur to me then that my plan had nothing to do with etiquette.

He began glancing over his shoulder.  He could see me.  How could he not?  I’m six three, two hundred pounds and ride a 29er.  I had him.  Then he did the unexpected:  he pulled over and let me pass.  He didn’t slow up he just stopped.  To make it worse he asked, “How are you doing?”

I felt bad.  I thought this was just some Primal wearing douche bag but it turned out he was a nice kid that perhaps made an honest mistake.  My rational was being called into question.  How could I have been so angry that I was going to crush the sprit of a nice kid?  I was feeling bad, embarrassed and ashamed at my overreaction.

I heard the squeal of mechanical brakes.  I glanced over my shoulder and saw him trying to run me down!  He let me pass just to use me as a rabbit.  Who did he think he was?  I was right the first time.  He needed to be taught a lesson.  Not only did he ignore me, now he was trying to run me down.

I, as my four year old would say, dropped the hammer on him.  I didn’t pick up the pace a little, or ride a bit aggressively – I went all out.  I was out of the saddle powering up hills.  On descents I shifted and kept peddling.  I rode the bike as hard as I could.  I took corners at speeds I never would’ve dreamed of.  My tires breaking free never entered my mind… until one did but I recovered before hitting a tree.  I was riding so hard my vision became tunneled. I almost crashed and had little awareness of what was around me but I was flying.  My brain and upper body were operating on the minimum supply of blood and oxygen – my legs needed it all.

I never saw him again on the trail.

I am sure he learned his lesson that day.  Or he went home and told his friends about some crazy old guy that almost crashed because he was riding like an ass.

Either way, I made my point.

I am a man: I wear lipstick and I’m OK.  It takes a few seconds for the phrase to sink in and a few more to get all the conclusions eradicated form your brain.  I also wear a wig and long flowing clothes but don’t let that give you the wrong idea.  There is nothing feminine or attractive about my appearance.

I am Sandman in the Cherokee Theater Company’s production of Hansel and Gretel.  My character is described as old, short and sensitive.  I am six foot three, a former physical education teacher and forty years old.  I possess one of the three qualities of the character: I am the oldest cast member.

This is my second performance with CTC and the first time I have had to wear makeup.  Putting on makeup for the first time was not a comfortable experience.  In You Can’t Take it With You I only had to put on powder so my giant forehead wouldn’t reflect the light and blind the audience.  This time I had to make myself appear much older.

Dr. Frank-N-Furter

When I think of make up I think of Dr. Frank-N-Furter or Pennywise.  Why I think of Tim Curry’s characters is up to a team of trained professionals to understand.  All the actors performing on TV, movies or stage wear make up – I keep telling myself.

Applying make up isn’t as complicated as I though it would be.  I thought women practiced for years before they were able to master the art of face making up.  Or maybe it just feels like years waiting for your wife or girlfriend to get ready.  The process of applying stage make up is pretty straightforward.  It is a very similar to paint by number project.

The first step was a base so the make up would blend evenly over my skin.  Rich (Mr. Theatre) allowed me to use his giant toolbox filled with make up.  I applied cream based stick called “leading man.”  I purchased some triangle sponges to spread it around.

Pennywise

Next I had to lighten areas of my face that stick out.  I applied an ivory colored makeup on my cheekbones, nose, brow, jaw and chin.

To age my face I used pencil to draw in wrinkles and make them darker.  I am positive I have more wrinkles now than I did before the show.  I drew the wrinkles on my forehead, mouth and added some crow’s feet.  I also used a brush and added some ivory to highlight the black of the lines.

Eyeliner took a bit to get used to.  The only way it worked for me was to dip my finger in and spread it around my eyes.  I used a brown above and below to give me a tired look.  This was my idea and I think it looked pretty freakin cool.

The last two steps were my least favorite for different reasons.  The lipstick sucks because it is lipstick. Apparently there is a whole process women go through in blotting and spreading the lipstick.  I was told to put it on my bottom lip and make kissy faces to spread it around.  I still don’t understand why this works.

On the 2^nd night I said out loud:  “I want to find some cool lipstick tonight.”  People heard me say it and I was embarrassed.

Rich applied powder to my face each night after I did the make up.  Yes, I did the make up.  It took me about 15 minutes to apply it.  I didn’t care much for the powder it made my face feel dry.  Maybe I need a nice moisturizer?

Grumpy Old Man

The next important piece of my character was the voice.  I tried to find a rough old man voice.  I didn’t want to sound like Dana Carvy’s Grumpy Old Man.

My first attempt at voice sounded like Elvis before it morphed into that Sling Blade guy.  By the closing night I sounded more like Kirk Lazarus.

In You Can’t Take it with You my character, Paul, was an extension of myself.  This time I became the character.  Sandman wasn’t a part of me; I created the character Sandman for this production. He was a jerk and funny.  He was annoyed at humans yet cared for their safety.  Sandman was also one of the funniest characters in the show – and I am saying that because I played him.

Kirk Lazarus

It was liberating, exciting and a bit scary.  By changing my appearance I was free to be somebody that wasn’t me.   A little lipstick now and then isn’t so bad.

The end is near sounds depressing, while almost go time sounds positive.  Ironman Augusta is only four days away and it is exciting and depressing.  I am relieved and excited to be near the event date.  After it is over I will finally be able to return to a “normal life”.  No longer will I be training six days a week.  I will have time to play golf; read, write and more importantly, I will have time to spend with my wife and son.  The family of a triathlete also makes sacrifices during training.  I am very fortunate to have a supportive family.  When possible I included the family on my Sunday trainings: biking or running the trails at Red Top Mountain.   I treated the family days as easy days and spent as much of my time as possible with the family.

Red Top Mtn

Am I ready? It is a stressful question I would ask myself frequently. I don’t think I could have trained harder. Could I have tried?  Deep down I think I did the best I could.  I avoided serious injuries and had about as much fun as possible.  My goal has always been to finish.  However, the competitive side of me wants to finish in the top half of my group.  If I were really serious about finishing high I wouldn’t drink Pumpkin Spice Lattes three days a week.

Pumpkin Spice

This is my rest week, the week I begin to wind down my training.  Last week was supposed to be the last intense week – the one to prepare me for the race.  Unfortunately it has rained constantly.  I spent my last week training indoors.  I hate pool swimming.  It is good exercise but mind numbingly boring.  Up…back… up… back.  Sometimes I think about swimming with my eyes closed just to break the monotony.  Swimming with my eyes closed and crashing into the wall isn’t much different than an open water lake swim anyway.

I have been told that I would enjoy pool swimming if I were with a team or a group of swimmers.  The only conceivable way pool swimming would be enjoyable is if I were swimming with the Texas Bikini Team.

Texas Bikini Team

I have been forced into the basement for riding too.  Swimming is boring, but I am moving.  On a stationary bike I pedal like a fool and do not move.  Swimming lasts thirty to forty minutes while cycling may last one to two hours.  In my basement I have my PS2 set up and play games in between sprints.  It is a formula I used on Fat Cyclist’s Ride to Nowhere.

The other option is to go to the gym and do a spinning class.  Spinning is high intensity on a bike that looks and feels sort of like a road bike (gift hint).  An instructor that is motivational and energetic teaches the classes.  Music and some type of video are usually played.  I like when they use Tour de France or other cycle race videos. Rarely do I talk to those around me in class.  I often will look to see somebody that is pedaling at a high cadence – I try to run him down.  I am undefeated in imaginary races!

On my last long ride I opted for the basement.  I set my Fuji up and dressed in race gear. I stayed low and aero as I pedaled.  I rode while watching Die Hard.  It was tolerable but not pleasurable.  I prefer open road or a mountain any day.

Gators rule Georgia!

Recently I learned that the Savannah River in Augusta has alligators.  I did not need to know this.  I never did a freshwater triathlon in Florida because of alligators.  I can accept and relax swimming in an area that may have sharks.  Alligators are different, the freak me out.  I won’t need to swim faster than the alligator – just faster than the person next o me.

A few days to go and I am as ready as I can be for Ironman Augusta.  I want to finish strong and not be eaten by an alligator.

Click HERE for pictures.

I  have a few pictures form the work party.  At one point I became lost because everything looked so much different.

Two of the pictures aren’t very good.  I wanted to capture how the water ran off of the trail – grass and trees were bent backwards.

The first set of pictures is from the day we worked on the trail.  We had to build a bridge and fix some other areas.

Last week we were finally able to ride – until it began raining again.  The trail was in good shape except for where there was a lot of muck.