City Coach | Terry Moore's Blog

NYRR Tri Race Report - "Yay! -Michael Jordan"

Note: This picture is definitely not from the end of the 1993 NBA season, after Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls had won their third consecutive championship. After hearing about my race last weekend, MJ was so inspired that he dusted off his old Bulls uniform, snapped this picture, and sent it to me. I don't know what's more shocking, the fact that he's a huge fan of relatively insignificant triathlons, or that he willingly put on those short shorts almost 20 years after they went out of style.

 

I really wanted to win this year (I think I've gotten some of NSQ's tenacity via osmosis). The past two years, I didn't really have the right mindset going into this race. I didn't believe I deserved to win the past two years (Catholic guilt maybe?), but whatever changed in my head definitely worked to my advantage this time around.

When people ask me about this race, I always tell them my reason for signing up is because "it's a local race. It's great because you don't have to drive anywhere or pay for a hotel." You do have to wake up at 3:30 in the morning though, to get on a Q train at 4:15 that takes you to Times Square, where you hop on the 7 train and take that approximately 394 stops to Flushing Meadows. The trains were suprisingly efficient though, and we arrived to the race just before 5:30. The early arrival gave me time to do a loop of the two-loop bike course as a warmup, but it was also especially helpful since I could scout out the tight turns and all the damn potholes. I was feeling sharp during the warmup, and upon my return to transition, told Coach Cane "I'm feeling good. This is weird. I usually don't feel this good."

During the pre-race meeting, the organizers announced that yes, they would be scoring the run (the threat of insanely high temperatures had caused them to warn participants that the run portion may not be scored in the race, and would be instead turned into a "fun run"). I needed that run. My strategy for triathlons is to push the swim and the bike as hard as I can in order to leave just enough pop in my legs to run hard. But without a run, I would've struggled to make the podium. So that was some great news. I think I started applauding when they announced that the run was still intact, but that quickly turned into an awkward slow golf clap when no one else joined me.

Anyway...let's get to the race! The swim is a 400m snake through the lovely 50m aquatic center pool. It's awkward because you have to flipturn diagonally under lane lines, which is a huge mess for a poor flipturner like myself. The goal for the swim was to go hard and get the hell out of there quickly. Without a warmup, my arms turned to jelly by the 100m mark, but I managed to get out of the pool in 6:50, which I'll take considering the weird turns and no warmup.

T1 was fast. Got my sunglasses and helmet on and was off with my bike. I managed to drop my water bottle on the run out with my bike, but it bounced in the direction I was going, so after a splitsecond pause, I was on my way out of transition and fancy mounting my bike, ready to zap my legs of all but a 5k run's worth of energy.

The bike portion of this race is crushingly boring and horribly paved. But everyone has to ride it, so there's no use in complaining or getting frustrated about hitting a pothole or speedbump every ten feet. I managed to survive the rough spots and a near-death encounter with an SUV and was back into transition after 13 miles with a fancy dismount in 34:29.

Upon dismounting my bike, I saw Coach Cane and NSQ on the side of the road. NSQ was doing her best cheerleader impression, while Coach Cane had some bad news:

"He's got two minutes on you. You'd better run for all you're worth!"

I'm not unfamiliar with being behind after the bike leg of a triathlon, but two minutes in a 5k is a pretty long time. I could have sworn I heard "if you don't win, you're off the team" or "a plague on both your houses" from Coach Cane (the official words of wisdom were "run for all you're worth!" as I found out after the race). Regardless of what was actually said, I was pissed that someone had that much of a lead on me. I smoked through T2, snatched (literally) my race number, and took off. As I got onto the run course, the announcer, who clearly hadn't been paying attention, said "and there goes our first male athlete out onto the run course". That made me even angrier.

About a half-mile into the run, I caught up with Fabian, who as always, had smoked me in the swim and bike. We exchanged a few words of encouragement, and I continued on in pursuit. I came through the first mile marker with no sign of the first place guy. I was starting to heat up, but thankfully at mile 1.5 an oasis appeared: the only water station on the course. I grabbed three cups of water and dumped all three on my head. The shock of that cold water really woke me up, and a few hundred meters later, I was able to see the guy in first place. I could tell by his cadence that he was struggling, so I picked up my tempo even more in order to catch him.

I managed to pass him just after the second mile marker, and knew that I needed to kick hard once I got past to avoid any counter. The last mile of the race is tough, because it's mostly in the sun, and you have to run away from the finish line in order to do a lap around a hugely annoying fountain, before hitting the home stretch. I kicked pretty hard once I crossed the third mile marker, and hit the tape with a 16:43 run time, and 59:42 overall time.

I feel like I finally raced to my potential in this race last Saturday. My secret goal was not only to win, but also to break one hour, since my time last year was 1:01 (on a much nicer day). And then I got that signed picture from Michael Jordan. That was pretty cool too.

Big shout out to Sheila, Bridget, Jess, Alisa, and Fabian for representing this weekend. It's always encouraging to see familiar colors out there. Thank you NSQ for braving the heat and humidity, and getting up early on a Saturday to cheer us on (and graciously relinquishing your NYRR Tri title). Thank you New York Road Runners, for having the run portion, because without it, this race report wouldn't be nearly as sunshine and rainbowsy. And lastly, thank you Coach Cane for your threats in T2.

Philly Tri Race Report - We talkin' 'bout practice!

 

Allen Iverson and I are kindred spirits apparently.

 

Triathlon is a very honest sport. In order to succeed, you must train your weaknesses more than your strengths in order to have a good overall race. Unfortunately.......I find this very difficult, and last weekend's Philadelphia Triathlon was a great example of this fact (and a great kick in the pants for the rest of the season).

I've done Philly the previous four years, and it is by far my favorite race of any distance or discipline. I guess helps that I know every turn, hill, and pothole on the course since I've ran or ridden parts of it hundreds of times. Even without my homecourt advantage, the organization is phenomenal and it's a great venue, so I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone looking for a well-run and fast Olympic distance race in the future.

The swim is point to point in the Schuylkill River (bonus points if you can pronounce it correctly!). While it's not the cleanest river out there, it's still a huge improvement over the Hudson. I was fortunate enough to be seeded in the Elite wave, which started right 
after the Pros and meant I'd have an open first lap of the bike. I knew within a few minutes of starting the swim that it was going to be a tough race (I'm currently in the middle of moving and had a few late nights the week before the race living the musician life). So it 
wasn't the most rested I've been before a race, but as they say in Japan, "c'est la vie".

I exited the water in 22:45, which was a bit faster than I expected considering how un-fast I was feeling. The swim was not wetsuit legal, so T1 was quick, and I was on my bike (fancy mount included) in about a minute and a half.

The bike begins with about a mile of flat and then turns uphill for the longest climb on the two loop bike course. Ugh. I knew I was in for a pummeling after that first hill. The course for the most part is pretty fair though, and there's always a downhill for every uphill, so 
there's really no reason to complain. I slogged through the bike with 
that dead-leg-it's-freaking-impossible-to-turn-the-crank feeling. I managed a faster second lap by over a minute, but overall it was a slower-than-expected 1:09 for the bike leg (a demoralizing 4 minutes slower than last year).

I breezed through T2 and was out on the run feeling surprisingly fresh, questioning whether these were the same legs that had just trudged through the bike. The run in Philly is very flat and very fast. I had a fair amount of athletes in front of me, so I focused on relaxing and picking off as many people as I could. The best part about the Philly Tri is that my mom comes out to watch me race, so it was nice seeing her twice on the run (especially the second time promised there'd be pancakes waiting for me at home). Considering how poorly the bike went, I was shocked to finish with a 36:03 run, which is the fastest I've run a 10k in any situation.

So while there were bright spots (the run, pancakes), the lack of preparation on the bike (hello, four minutes slower than last year) is a more glaring weakness. If this coming weekend (moving and a three day recording session) doesn't kill me, I'm ready to get back to work and put in some serious time on the bike. Next up is the NYRR Sprint Tri, and there's juuuuuust a bit of pressure there to do well, so it's time to go to work! It's time to.......PRACTICE!

Brooklyn Half Report - Better Late than....Later

I hate being late to anything. Can't stand it. I think it's the stereotypical assumption that musicians are never on time that drives me crazy and instilled this obsessive aversion to tardiness. If timeliness is within my control, I'll be on time.

So naturally, I was late to the start of the Brooklyn Half. I have no excuse for it. Since it was my first race in over eight months, I guess I forgot the fact that time moves twice as quckly on race morning. So even though I live less than a mile from the race, I couldn't make a 7:00 start.

And of course the day before the race, I had told Coach Cane that I'd learned from my mistake from last year's race (arriving late and getting stuck in the back of my corral) and that I planned to arrive early to warm up and line up where I needed to be. Well it turned out I showed up even later this year and missed my corral completely.

The plan was to take the first few miles conservatively and gradually increase pace from the halfway point of the second loop of Prospect Park. That plan went out the window when I looked down after a first mile of weaving my way through hundreds of runners and saw 5:54 on my watch. After telling myself to relax and slow down, I wove through mile two (which included the climb to Grand Army) in 6:00 flat. Down with conservatism! This was to be a Colbertian race.

Fortunately, I had the advantage of a front-heavy course, so once I was out of Prospect Park, I had a smooth net-downhill ride to Coney Island in front of me. Coach Cane reminded me the day before to wait until Ocean Parkway to start passing "the idiots who went out too fast". Afraid that I had played the role of one of those idiots, I worked very hard from miles 7-12 to hang on.

The psychological barrier between "this is terrible make it stop!" to "I can actually finish this!" (in other words, the final mile marker) is such a funny thing to think about when you're removed from the race situation. It's like Zoloft for runners. I hope I can eventually get to a point in racing where I'm completely confident in my fitness and the final mile marker becomes insignificant. But that definitely hasn't happened yet because I was very excited to see the mile 12 sign on Saturday.

Getting onto the boardwalk is both relieving and annoying as hell, because it feels like you're running through quicksand. After the final slog along the boardwalk I was relieved to cross the line in 1:16:51, just under my goal, and twenty seconds faster than 2010.

Overall, I'm pleased with my fitness and looking forward to another solid year of racing. And timeliness.

Untitled (How Does It Feel)

As most of you know, I live a double life. Aside from working at Jackrabbit and training for/competing in triathlons, I'm also a musician. As you can imagine, the lifestyle aspects of each are quite contradictory. Triathletes are usually working out before the sun comes up; musicians usually get home from working when the sun comes up. Triathletes are meticulous about their health; musicians are well, not the healthiest group of people for sure. Triathletes have perfectly sculpted bodies and thus have tons of sex appeal; musicians (especially drummers) are irresistable -- um okay wait I'm getting off track here.

ANYWAY, I've discovered a teency bit of common ground (forget about the previous sentence). Here's the deal: I rarely run with music. I hate being wired to something while running, and I don't really find it necessary to have Steve Perry telling me to not stop believing (unless I'm at a bar at 3 in the morning and have had too many beers). However, the one time I'll put on a pair of headphones when I'm running is to commute. I don't do it too frequently, but when I do, I'll always listen to D'Angelo's album Voodoo.

In any setting, that album is pretty irresistable. I mean, when you have D'Angelo's vocals backed up by ?uestlove, Pino Paladino, Charlie Hunter, Raphael Saadiq, and Roy Hargrove, you can't not love it. So yes, the album is incredible and it grooves like crazy, but then I discovered why it was so great to run to <cue angelic choirs> most of the record hovers at or slightly above 90 BPM (beats per minute).

So is it really a coincidence that 90 footstrikes per minute is an optimal running cadence? NO! Obviously, D'Angelo wanted to make a record that he could run to so he could stay in such fantastic shape that he could make shirtless music videos where the only props are a black velvet backdrop and a pound of melted butter for his skin. Or maybe not...

Anyway, D'Angelo's Voodoo really is the perfect album to run to, because you can run to the beat, thus ensuring that you're running with an optimal rate of turnover. I will caution you that some songs are trickier than others. While songs like "Playa Playa", "Devil's Pie", "Left and Right", "Spanish Joint", and "Africa" are right in the 90 BPM range that allow you to make each stride an eighth note, songs like "Send it On" and "Untitled" require a more complex understanding of rhythm ("Send it On" in particular requires that you make each footstrike be a quarter note triplet, since it's in 6/8).

Regardless of how much you care about creating rhythmic subdivisions with your running footstrikes over neo-soul tracks, a great exercise to work on your running cadence is to find some music in the 90 BPM range, and try to have your right foot always land on the beat (running cadence is measured in the amount of footstrikes of one foot, so your cadence is always half the number of total footstrikes you take in one minute). I know this seems like a dumb exercise, but getting your turnover quicker will force you to shorten your stride and pick your knees and ankles up.

So while this may be the apex of my blogging career since I've finally figured out a way to combine all of my passions into one post, I'm serious about the cadence thing. It's very helpful with regards to promoting good running form. So go forth, find your own Voodoo* equivalent, and get your cadence up.

 

 

*or just get Voodoo. Seriously, it's an incredible album. It might make my desert island top 5, if not solely because of its greatness, but also so I could always make sure that my running cadence is where it should be.

Quick Empire State Building Race Report

NY1 ran a story about the Empire State Building Run-up on Monday morning, the day before the race. They noted that the only way to train for a stairclimbing race was to run thousands of stairs. Great. I hadn't. Yes, I've been swimming, biking, and running, but I don't think walking up the thirty-some stairs in my apartment building counts as training.

I doubt actually running stairs would've helped physiologically, but psychologically? Definitely. My biggest fear was puking. Other than last summer's epic stomach incident at Timberman (and my 21st birthday), I have a pretty solid stomach. However, the idea of climbing 1500 stairs as fast as possible turned my normal pre-race stomach butterflies into hummingbirds on crack.

As it always seems to happen before a race, I had a gig on Monday night (which included schlepping an entire drumset), and didn't get home until around 2 in the morning. Oh well, the race didn't start until 10:30, so I was still able to get a decent amount of sleep. I met Coach Cane, Killer, and Jean the Machine before the race and talked strategy and menthol for a minute before lining up...to walk down to the start.

In hindsight, I should've started closer to the front. The entire race is pretty much dictated by who makes it through the fire door first. Trying to cram 100 men (albeit skinny runner men) through that door takes a while, and I spent a good 20 seconds or so waiting for the guys in front of me to get through. Once I made it through the door, it was like we were walking up the stairs in elementary school: single file, one step at a time, at a pace like we were dreading the next period's math test. Eventually things began to thin out, and I was able to dodge and weave my way through the crowd. The first twenty flights went by very quickly, but by the time I got to the 46th floor, things started getting difficult. From there it was a slog to the top. There was still a decent group of guys in front of me, and with every flight, my will to pass them decreased.

Reaching the top was a relief. So was not throwing up. Both goals (finishing and not puking) were accomplished. I guess I know what to expect now and what I could improve, but...I don't think I have the elusive double recessive City Coach Affinity for Unique Races gene that seems to be quite prominent within our group.

Let's Talk Running Form Part 2

As I wrote close to a decade ago in my first post about forefoot striking, there'd be a follow up post discussing safe ways to start adjusting your running mechanics. Well......this is it!

Now before we start, here are a few things to remember. It took me close to a year to build up the strength to run a marathon while forefoot striking. Prior to that switch, I had been maintaining a substantial 40+ MPW average for quite a while. So don't be fooled into thinking that you can continue running 30, 40, 50, 90 (I'm looking at you, Bonnie) miles per week. It takes a lot of patience and humility. After the first calf strain, the depressing realization that I was, in fact, mortal, was at the same time a great reminder that the process was going to take time.

The offseason (for most of us Northerners) is a great time to reinforce good mechanics, whether it's on the road, on the trainer or in the pool. Please be careful. And remember just because tweaking my mechanics worked for me, it doesn't mean the result will be the same for everyone.

You can't really start too small. If you just make a conscious effort to land on your toes for one block every five, or one minute every ten, that's fine. As you're doing it, try to remember what the most noticable changes are in your form. Pay attention to the motion of your ankle, foot, and knee and how it compares to your natural stride. Also, try to examine your stride length and cadence. If you notice that your strides are shorter in length and the frequency of footfalls increases, you're onto something. I can guarantee that it'll feel a little awkward at first. The key is to reinforce these mechanics by repetition and thus aiding muscle memory.

We all run with our own unique gait because of muscle memory. And I'd say that we've all gotten to be pretty successful even with our own quirks. Take golfer Jim Furyk. He has a pretty unique swing, but he's been pretty successful. On the running side, the posterboy for weird form was Emil Zatopek. A current example would be triathlete Tim Don (pictured) 
, who has jerked, clawed, and headbanged his way to sub-30 10k times.

Now obviously, "practicing running" sounds like a stupid concept. It's like practicing eating or sleeping (both of which I'd happily practice anytime). Here are a few drills to practice when you're not running: (note: these can be done barefoot in your apartment or on grass)

1. Marching in place. I know this sounds dumb, but really emphasize bringing your knees up, keeping good posture, and keeping your arms swinging in line with your body. Notice where your feet land when you march in place. Here's a hint-it's not on your heels.

2. Slow deliberate marching. Apply the same emphases as in the first drill.

3. Now increase the pace by step-hopping keeping a very short length between steps. It's kind of like skipping, but in a more controlled and rhythmically even way. Get your knees and heels up and make sure that your arms are included.

4. Finally work up to running while alternating high knees and kicking up your ankles. This is a very important drill because it keeps your leg swing in line with the forward direction of your body. It prevents your feet from kicking out to the sides, which inhibits forward momentum. Try to apply the same principles to your arm mechanics. Keep them moving in line with your body with minimal crossing across your chest.

If you're training for an early marathon in January or February, now may not be the time to start making big changes. Regardless of what you're training for, begin by seeing how things workout on your shorter runs, and make very small changes as you go along. The key is to go at your own pace and to have a ton of patience. Big signs that you're overdoing it are sore Achilles tendons, sore calves, and even plantar fasciitis. I'm not saying it'll be a painless transition, but be aware that you'll feel it. Always err on the side of safety.

As far as footwear goes, a shoe that allows a little more flexibility and less cushion may feel more comfortable when forefoot striking, but if you're used to a more structured stability shoe or even a highly-cushioned neutral shoe, be cautious if you decide to try something lighter and more flexible. Keep in mind that I was wearing the Asics Nimbus, a very well-cushioned neutral shoe when I started adjusting my mechanics. So no, you don't need a pair of vibrams or a racing flat. See how the shoes you have been running in work out, and if you'd like to try something new, make very small adjustments. If you have the brilliant idea to buy a pair of vibrams, try to do your 15 mile long run in them this weekend, this is your preemptive smack in the face.

Best of luck. If you find these changes work for you, great! If you find they don't, just as great! Finding the perfect physiological balance of mechanics, endurance, and speed can be very tricky. Be confident in the results, however you find them.

Long Course Tri (Du?) Nationals Race Report

While I could recap the entire race weekend (two 13 hour drives, eating more fast food in two days than I have in the past two years, "Paradise By The Dashboard Light", almost not making it to the race), doing that would probably blow up the internet. So let's begin on race morning.

I woke up feeling pretty well rested and refreshed at 4 am feeling unusually optimistic about the race. This is quite rare. Most race mornings, I'll wake up and think "this is a huge mistake, what the hell was I thinking?" Usually those feelings will subside once I start to get ready for the race, so on this particular morning, I was already ahead of the game. Look out Nationals, here I come!

After a lovely breakfast of two Powerbars and a bottle of water, we met up with Jon and NSQ and made our way to the race. Except the roads were closed. No big deal, the race was only going to begin in a little over an hour, we had plenty of time to not know where we were going.

We eventually made it. NSQ and I made our way towards transition, and in the process, saw an athlete come within inches of getting mowed down by a car going 40 miles an hour. Definitely wasn't your  traditional race morning, that's for sure. Anyway, we finally got into transition, began setting up our gear and heard an announcement on the PA system, "All athletes must gather at the main tent for a very important race announcement." That's when the race director, a guy with an impossibly genuine Southern accent got on the mic.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I've got a real tough announcement to make. I haven't slept in 60 hours, I've been on the phone with the testing company all night, and I've had to make a real tough decision. The Big Man Upstairs just does not want us to swim today."

A chorus of groans erupted from the athletes. NSQ and I looked at each other and did simultaneous miniature Tiger Woods fist pumps. Clearly The Big Man Upstairs had our backs on this day. Obviously, I would've liked to do the entire race, but having the swim cancelled definitely didn't hurt NSQ nor myself. If the race director had said "Y'all, The Big Man Upstairs does not want us to run today, especially you, Terry Moore" I would've packed up and gotten the hell out of there. Because of the last minute change, they couldn't add a run to start the race, so the format would simply be bike/run. Athletes would start at the swim exit, have a T1 time, and then head out onto the bike and do the race normally from that point.

Now, letting 900 athletes loose in T1 at the same time would obviously be less organized than Pamplona's bull run, so they had one athlete start every three seconds in a time trial format. NSQ and I managed to sneak our way towards the front of the line after it had formed, which I felt horrible about (thank you, Catholic guilt). Honestly, I've never felt better coming into T1 in any race in my life! Since we didn't swim, there were no goggles, swimcaps, and especially wetsuits to worry about, so all I had to do was put on my helmet, and I was on my way out of T1 in one minute flat.

The bike course was two loops of primarily one main highway. It was impeccably paved and pancake flat. The openness of the course allowed for a good deal of wind, but other than that, it was sure to be a fast day on the bike. Because the highway was so well maintained, I was able to tuck into my aerobars and grind out the miles without worrying about potholes or turns. The TT start spread out the other athletes pretty well, so worrying about drafting wasn't too much of an issue either. I had bought two *NEW* water bottles for the bike, so I was definitely in business for the ride. The course and conditions made for my best HIM bike split in 2:34:xx.

T2 was a breeze: bike racked, helmet off, running shoes on and I was off. The run course was also two loops of flat asphalt. While the bike course was very easy to navigate, the run course was set up like someone asked Picasso to draw a pretzel. There were some very confusing out-and-back sections that cost many people a DQ because they did not navigate them properly. I had settled into a nice rhythm early into the run, and averaged pretty consistent 6 minute miles for the first few. I knew that pace would be difficult to sustain for the entire run, but I kept plugging away. I finally caught NSQ around mile 7 (she bested me on the bike by a few minutes), and we shared a quick laugh about Mike Tyson (I have weird motivational techniques in races). By mile 10, my pace had slowed into the 6:30s. Then 6:40s. I was ready to be finished. At this point, my mechanics had deteriorated into Tim Don-esque spaz-running (except without Tim Don's speed). Boy was I happy seeing the finish. I managed to pick it up for the last few hundred yards (only because I knew JC would be there with a camera) and finished with a 1:23:56 half marathon and 4:01 overall time.

4:01 was good enough for 7th in my age group, which got me a spot on Team USA for the Long Course World Championships next year. That was my big goal for the season, so I'm happy to have accomplished that. It was definitely a nice way to end my season. Clearly, NSQ and I race well together since she picked up 3rd in her AG and a spot on Team USA as well. AND she fought through the stomach problems that made me wuss out of Timberman. AND she just married Jonathan. Tough girl, that NSQ.

Let's Talk Running Form Part 1

I know what you're thinking, "Oh jeez, yet another take on barefoot running". Not yet. I'm going to break these ramblings up into two parts. The first will chronicle my own experience adjusting my mechanics and the second will examine why changes in your form can be good.....or bad.

Let me preface this by saying two things: First, I am not an expert in biomechanics, running form, or anything else for that matter. The second is that forefoot striking/barefoot running is not for everyone. Believe it or not, you don't have to shell out $100 for a pair of Vibram Five Fingers to make some beneficial changes to your running form. Let's rewind to January 1, 2007.

On New Year's Day of 2007, I ran four miles. I laced up the same pair of Asics Nimbus 7s that I had been wearing for over a year (multiple pairs, obviously) and set out for an easy run in my beloved hometown (Go Phillies!). But this run was different. I purposefully landed not on my heels, but on the balls of my feet for the entire run. It was pretty awkward. Since November of 2005, I had run three marathons: New York, Boston and Chicago, all on my heels. Over that time I had a nonstop string of very minor injuries. None were severe enough to prevent me from running, but there was always a quad, hipflexor, or knee that didn't feel quite right. I had done a bit of research about forefoot striking (this was before Chi and Pose running were really popular) and decided to give it a go. Running on the balls of my feet (and the accompanying mechanical changes necessary to sustain that form) just made sense to me. I was able to use my arches, ankles, knees and hips to absorb the shock of every stride. Comparitively, running wasn't nearly as jarring when I landed on my toes, although my calves were under much more stress. Overall, I felt the changes were a good thing, so I continued throughout the month.

 With a bit of patience, I was able to run those 4 miles with more ease and less soreness as the weeks progressed. And then I realized that I was signed up for Boston in April, increased my mileage way too quickly, and as a result of that bonehead mistake ended up with a calf strain. While mssing Boston was tough, I was determined to learn from my mistake and be patient with the transition from heel to forefoot. That November, I ran New York City again, entirely on my toes.

Since adjusting my form, I've finished an Ironman, gotten a promotion at work, landed a great girlfriend and found inner peace. Uh okay, it's really not that life-changing. The most noticeable difference has been a lower frequency of those minor annoying injuries, although I still battle occasional achilles tendonitis. While it has worked for me, significantly changing your form may not work for you. No, it didn't make me faster (smarter training has), but the fact that I'm able to run without those nagging injuries sure has helped.

DN-F that!

As my friend NSQ always says, "when you put on a race number, you sure as [heck] better race your [buttocks] off" (or something like that). To Ms. SQ, there isn't an excuse good enough to justify not leaving everything on the course (see: NYRR Sprint Tri where she crashed hard on her bike, only to get right back up and bleed her way to a 1st place finish). Well Nicole, you were the first person I thought of as I pulled out of Timberman last weekend.

Let's flashback to the start of the race though. I was feeling loose and focused, with a ton of excitement as I prepared to race my first half-Ironman in two years. I had done Timberman twice before and was confident in my training, so I was sure to have a great race. I'd never actually had a bad race in my life. Sure, there have been some that didn't go exactly as planned, but overall, I couldn't legitimately label them as "bad" races.

So after a decent swim at Timberman and a fast first half of the bike, I was feeling pretty strong and in control. Around mile 30, I switched water bottles to the second of two I had with me. After the first sip of bottle number two, I knew something didn't taste quite right. Seeing as it was my only remaining source of calories, fluid and electrolytes, I figured I might as well drink it. My stomach began to tighten just ten miles and half of the bottle later. The remaining 16 miles became increasingly painful, and by the first half mile in on the run, I was reminded of the color of Gatorade that I was drinking before the race (orange).

After 2 miles of shuffling (see pictoral evidence of blistering pace above) and vomiting, I stopped moving and walked off of the side of the course. Stopping never felt so awkward. I hadn't yet finished the race, but I knew my race was finished. When I race, there's always a bubling sense of urgency that keeps me focused and driven to the finish. But as soon as I stopped, it was like someone turned off the burner and that frothy boil was calmed. It was a weird sensation of simultaneous peace and disappointment. Usually I feel that my mind and body are mutually thankful for being able to push and be pushed to their limits when I finish a race. It's that feeling of utter drainage that is so wildly appealing. That feeling would have to wait.

The first thing that I did was take off my race number. It would've been unfair to everyone who was racing to walk my way back to transition with it still on. And had NSQ seen me, she would've definitely smacked me around. Most of my walk to transition was spent feeling sorry for myself, but it wasn't long before I was able to start spinning this into something positive. Was it a lack of training or preparation that prevented me from finishing? No. It was neglect to thoroughly clean one of my water bottles. While on one hand it's extremely frustrating that something like a dirty bottle ruined my race, the solution is to spend $5 on a new one and keep the damn thing clean.

So now with the indelible stain of DNF on my race resume, I'm moving forward with a lot of positive energy toward my last race of the year, the long course national championship in Myrtle Beach, SC on October 2. I have about four and a half weeks to keep my water bottles clean.

Testing

How many roadies does it take to screw in a light bulb?