Pop goes the Weasel

One must be careful when caught in the crossfire of two professional triathletes who have undergone rather heavy training loads at your recommendation. It is not uncommon for two such athletes to befall a mildly displeased disposition when, for example, you, as their coach, might happen to utter the wrong thing at the wrong time.

"Oh," I said midway through a serious hammer session on the bike today. "I forgot to tell you guys I got rained on during my ride yesterday."

It seemed an innocent enough comment, because we haven't seen precipitation here in these parts, California's Central Coast, for what seems like months on end. But when one of the athletes has been dragging you around at close to twenty-eight miles per hour for the last hour, such a comment can be harmful…if not to the athlete, certainly to you, the coach.

Such temperament is not uncommon when training hard. I myself endured enough mood swings during my bigger Ironman build-ups to put any roller-coaster to shame. In this case, it was certainly no mood swing or anything like that. And it was really no big deal except that I had NO IDEA I was going to suffer like I did for the next fifteen minutes. "I should have used my motorbike today," I kept telling myself.

The first athlete, Trevor Wurtele, stepped it up a notch, from twenty-eight miles per hour to more than thirty, leaving the second athlete, his wife Heather, reaching for bigger gears. This presented a predicament since she was already in her biggest. More importantly, at least to me, it presented me with a problem! Like Heather, I was forced to reach not only for bigger gears but also for higher heart rates. Therein lay the problem, of course. Just as I had run out of bigger gearing, so too had I run out of room to raise my heart rate. It didn't take long to figure out what would happen next. Pop goes the weasel.

Trevor figured that if we had energy enough to talk, well then, we should be riding harder. I like his logic! In one sense it was a good way to motivate Trevor and in the future I may consider repeating such a comment. "Hey, look at that tree," I might say. "I didn't know Madrones grew way up here!" Only this time I'll do it when Trevor is closing in on his first Ironman victory, (a feat accomplished by his wife in Coeur d'Alene last year, I might add). I'll build an entire library of comments so that I don't ever run short. Of course, I'll also be on my motorbike or safely spectating from the sidelines. It is for this reason (and many others, of course) I expect great things from Trevor in the future.

"Hey Trevor, what kind of squirrel was that?"

"Trev, check out that cirrocumulus cloud overhead…"

"Whoa, Wurtele, did you see those stupid cows trying to have sex back there?"

"Do they ever paint those Blue brand bikes you guys ride red?"

"Trevor, how come you always wear your iPod when we ride together?"

Pop goes the weasel.

Perform=With Form. Why Drills are a Waste of Time

Just as it is with stretching* I'm not an ardent advocate of drills. Now before anybody gets themselves in a tizzy, I must first assert that I am not talking about motorized drills like the kind they sell down at Home Depot, with batteries and bits and lengthy warning labels. Those kinds of drills are very helpful when, say, trying to drill into a human skull to suck the brains out. (Technically, we have just one brain each, so "brains" is a misnomer. Moreover, many of us don't even possess one such apparatus.) What I'm talking about are those drills that pertain to athletes: those silly little bouts of bouncy exercise that theoretically assist with your form functioning. Those are the kind of drills I speak of.

Coaches employ these kinds of drills to isolate a segment of the swim or pedal stroke or even the run stride, and they think that doing them will improve the mechanics of the athlete; they do not. They do, however, make you better at performing drills. Just as dancing makes you a better dancer (except, of course, in the case of triathletes), drilling makes you a better, um, driller. (You dentists take note. Stuart.)

The problem with breaking the swim stroke (or pedal stroke or run stride) into pieces is that there are no separate phases in any of these activities. One facet leads to and affects the next and drills tend to overlook this inseparable integration. Working a specific part of your stroke (or stride) in isolation does nothing to help improve how it works in a dynamic situation. The body works best as a whole.

Now the athletes I train, who may possibly stumble upon this blog if they've got nothing better to do while at work, may declare, "Hold on here a minute, Bucko!" (Only they'll assuredly use a more offensive word than 'Bucko'). "How come every now and then you prescribe drills?"

BUSTED! It's true: I suggest drills at times, usually in the pool. This is not necessarily to make a faster swimmer out of an athlete, but rather a more attentive one. A more attentive swimmer is bound to be a better swimmer. And, unlike stretching, drills can't really do harm. Unless you drown. Don't drown. That's Rule Number One in swimming.

I typically advise those I coach that instead of doing a bunch of pointless, fleeting drills (that last but a few seconds) it is better to persistently perform with form. "Put the 'form' in 'perform'," I've scribbled to more than one athlete, making me smile at least. What exactly the 'per' signifies, I'm not so sure, but I like to say it means "with". Perform=with form. Makes sense to me anyway. So the gist is to constantly think about what you're doing, and then improve upon it.

You improve your mechanics by---get this---swimming or running or cycling. That's right: you swim, you run, and you ride! But here's where it gets tricky: while doing so, you must also think. (And this is where most athletes seem to have trouble, incidentally; they get lost in thought, perhaps because they've never been there before). You think about where your hand is entering the water (while swimming, you knuckleheads) and you think about where your elbows are during the pull phase of your stroke. While running you think about your foot-strike and your stride rate and you work to improve them. You think about running quietly and tall, with your hips forward. And while riding, you think about how to get more aerodynamic, without compromising power or comfort. You also think about wasted energy and why it is, exactly, you moo to cows every time you pass them. The point is you need to think, so long as all this thinking makes you more efficient and therefore FASTER.

The goal at the end of the day of course is to be FASTER (and to crush the dreams of those who annoy you), and everything in training should be geared to this end. If you're faster with sh!tty form, then by all means, stay sh!tty. (A quick aside: limping old ladies have passed me in races. And while their form may have been absolute crapola they were flying.) But if perfecting your form pays dividends and increases your potential (and it generally does, though it takes a long while) then start making those deposits and cashing those checks.

*Lastly, on the subject of stretching. Although I'm known to stretch the truth from time to time, there have never really been any conclusive studies about stretching, (e.g., whether it prevents injuries or not). Some studies show that it can be beneficial while others show that quite the opposite is true. My opinion is that if you feel better after doing so, than by all means stretch. I always feel better after farting, for example, so fart I do. In fact, here comes another. Oh, and when it comes to stretching, it never hurts to stretch your imagination.

Steve Larsen

I grew up competing with Steve Larsen, just outside of California's low-lying capitol. We were both youthful cyclists, attempting to be the next Greg LeMond. He was a year or two my junior but we were roommates a couple years later at the Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs, both chosen to be groomed for the team time-trial squad, at that time an Olympic event. As roommates do, we were always playing pranks on one another.

There was the time I awoke and got ready for another long ride. As was typical Steve, he had already been up a few hours, pacing around our tiny four-walled dormitory. As soon as I wiped the crust from my eyes he reminded me we were to ride six hours that day, out to a dot on the map on the Colorado plains called Limon. After a speedy breakfast I suited up and hopped on my bike, ready to roll.

"Damn you Larsen," I said.

"What?" he replied. "I didn't do it."

That was quintessential Steve. Every single antic he had ever pulled was followed by this response. "I didn't do it."

This particular time he took the time to pull the 177.5mm cranks from my bike and replace them with 165mm crank arms, in addition to replacing my 12-tooth cog on my rear cassette with a 15-tooth version. I knew straight away that something was amiss, but it wasn't unusual to feel this in Steve's presence. He frequently made you feel amiss, such was the power in those skinny legs of his. Well, by the time I realized his little stunt, we were already well en route to Limon, me spinning away profusely, him laughing just the same. My knees never felt so bad, but they fit right in with the rest of me, which would ache for the entire five hours I sat glued to Steve's rear wheel. Teammate or competitor, you got used to seeing the back of Steve.

I got the news that Larsen passed away yesterday, at the ripe young age of 39. An apparent heart attack. The man had a big heart, literally and figuratively, and he will be sorely, sorely missed. As I type this I can hardly see my computer's keyboard.

Rest in peace Steve. I'll be sitting on your wheel, along with the rest of us.

The Save Your Life Diet

Gastro-intestinal bypass surgery. The Atkins Diet. The Zone Diet. The South Beach Diet. The Cabbage Soup Diet. The Jenni Craig Diet. Liposuction.

Obesity is as American as apple pie. (Alamode, of course!)

It's been said that 2/3rds of Americans are overweight. The truth of the matter, of course, is that we're not overweight. One cannot be overweight…you weigh what you weigh, whether it's over or under someone else's ideals.

But if we're not overweight then, what are we?

We are, quite simply, fat. F-A-T, fat.

America is full of fat people. Really fat people at that. We're the Land of the Free (free to shove anything down our gullets) and Home of the Brave (brave enough to keep doing it). There's a serious downslide taking place in contemporary America---a nation inundated by data and worthless video images, with high-decibel sales pitches and disingenuous political ads. Our economy is also heading south, so they say. But none of our nationwide troubles can compare to our individual health, or lack thereof. We are a land full of people with little regard for their personal well-being, each belly-flopping in their own ocean of obesity, seemingly stuck with low levels of self-esteem and self-respect. And how can we earn one another's respect if we don't even respect our own selves---our bodies---the only thing we'll possess from birth to death?

Each time I travel within the confines of our barricaded borders I'm literally taken aback at the state of this nation. Every which way I turn I'm confronted by humongous inhabitants, many of whom have more chins than a Chinese phone book! We're not overweight! We're overfat! Though you'd think I'd be used to it by now I still gaze in utter disbelief as these oversized individuals waddle from their oversized cars to their oversized Mondo-Marts, filling their oversized carts with oversized containers of crap. And crap it is! I truly believe if these fat folks ate as they were designed to they'd never get this fat. IF THESE FAT FOLKS ATE AS THOUGH THEIR LIFE DEPENDED UPON IT THEY'D STOP EATING!

Stop eating, people. Please. For your sake and the world you trample atop.

And this, by the way, is one of the premises for my new diet book. It's called, "The Save Your Life Diet."

Here's how it works…

1) You exercise. A lot. Naturally, a lot, when you've been doing none whatsoever, might be very little. All the same, you fatsos need to at least attempt to work up a sweat. Sweat, after all, is a good indicator of work, just as panting is. Start panting and drop a pant size! And forget all this BS about asking your physician before starting an exercise program! My guess is that he's also a fat-ass. And anyway, he's only going to tell you of the risks you may face while exercising. Of course, in order to exercise, you must "find the time". But this is the thing: the time is there, all right. And if it isn't, your time will run out that much sooner.

2) When you're hungry, you eat. But! There's a catch! You're only allowed to ingest real food. "Real food" is food that was recently ALIVE and was available only to our caveman brethren: vegetables, meats, eggs, fish, fruit, nuts, seeds and chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. I kid about that last one, of course. Don't be tempted, you weak-willed monstrous maggots.

3) When you're not hungry---get this---you DON'T eat. Hunger is a signal that you should probably eat. Appetite, on the other hand, is not. REQUIRING AND DESIRING CALORIES ARE TWO DISTINCTLY DIFFERENT THINGS, FATSO. Develop an understanding on the difference between the two and recognize when you require food, not when you desire it. By the way, you NEVER require chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

4) You are to drink lots of water, and only water. Frappuccinos, soda pops, another animal's milk, soy "milk", smoothies, shakes, teas, alcohol, juices and other liquids should not replace your daily water requirements. Your body is nearly 2/3rds water (and if you're American most of that is stored within the copious amounts of adipose enveloping you!) and you need to maintain this balance.

There it is…the entire book. Four straightforward points that may SAVE YOUR LIFE. And if it doesn't it's probably because you waited (weighted) too much.


PS: Not that this has anything to do with anything, but this morning I was given a parking ticket on my motorcycle here in little ol' Solvang. The police officer, a mustached man with a beer belly (surprise, surprise), told me I was not allowed to park where I had been attempting to.

"Sir, you will incur a citation," he affirmed.

"That's fine by me," I responded.

He didn't get it and I was ticketed $34, which, naturally, I don't plan to pay in this lifetime.

Breakthrough Toilet Reading & the Allure of Ironman

Atop the tank section of my toilet (technically known as the "cistern") sits a candle (to drown-out the fragrant foulness of looming unpleasantries) and a few tattered books and magazines (to help pass the time). The bathroom, after all, is what I affectionately refer to as The Reading Room. But it wasn't always this way.

Years ago, you see, when I'd reach PPPP ("Perilous Poo Panic Point"), said panic would further intensify when, to my dismay, I'd find myself unable to unearth a little something good to read before skedaddling to the sh!tter. So nowadays, to combat this preventable stress, I've assembled a virtual library in my water closet. (This perhaps leaves little perplexity as to how or why I've habitually endured a pitiless case of hemorrhoids.) This stack of reading material frequently changes, as I complete one tome after the other. One of the latest books to firmly secure its place in my lavatory library is called Breakthrough Triathlon Training by an aging buddy of mine named Brad Kearns. (Incidentally, we're all aging; even you young pros too ignorant to know any better.) Kearns is an ex-pro whose claim to fame, other than knowing me, is that he was the first triathlete ever to don a pair of those now-not-so-new-fangled aero-handlebars. (Truth is, they weren't even all that new then; RAAM riders had been using them for years prior to this, so don't feel special Brad.)

Anyway, as I flipped though the oversized paperback (dealing with my own oversized dilemma in the interim) I came to a page in which Brad gave his viewpoint on the Ironman distance events. Kearns more or less states that Ironmans are excessive and that you should not "blindly follow the pack" by entering one, simply for the sake of finishing.

Now no one in his or her right mind would dispute that an Ironman is excessive. But in the sport of triathlon, the pinnacle for the vast majority of competitors isn't the Olympics or the World Championships or the "Tri for Fun" down the road---it's Ironman.

And here's the thing…

We don't do Ironmans because they are easy. We do them because they are a challenge, one unlike any other. Each event in itself---the 2.4-mile swim, the 112-mile bike ride or the marathon---can be considered a long-ass workout and yet they're not enough by themselves, not for us crazy challenged-deprived types.

Now this doesn't mean those of us who partake in the event are suffering from some sort of chemical imbalance but are simply up for a huge challenge. Life is a challenge, of course, but in a wealthy nation like the US it's not enough. We must create challenges because, in all reality, we have it easy here.

Look at how hideously heavy the bulk of Americans are, brandishing bellies and butts bigger than some Ironman athletes I've coached, and you can see just how easy we have it. Even a skinny schmuck like me, one who refuses to work more than a few hours each week---so that he may ride his bike or hike or write at random---can easily survive on the fringes of society…without a real job, without real income, without "insurance", without a cell phone, without a TV, without airbags, without all these things I'm constantly told that I need. Yes, life is easy and then you die.

And so we design challenges like the Ironman, to put ourselves through a "real" test, contrived as though it is. All the same, an Ironman is a test and indeed a metaphor for life itself. But in life the real struggle is not what we suffer through but what we miss, and Kearns seems to miss the point here. Oh, and for what it's worth, Brad has never finished an Ironman, although he once attempted one. Is it possible he might be bitter?

Despite what may sound like a dig on Brad (and trust me, it's not), I think that if you can find it used, you ought to buy the book: it's worth it.


PS: Not that this has anything to do with anything, but I'm in the midst of compiling a list about the worst aspects of our sport of triathlon. The clear standout for me is the early morning starts, along with having to bathe in cold, shark-infested waters, needing to fart on the massage table and laying eyes on athletes in Speedos that just shouldn't be in Speedos. If you have any ideas you'd like to share, please leave a comment or two here and it may very well make its way onto a future write-up (and possibly onto Xtri.com). You'll be fully credited of course.