Race Practice

"The more I talk to athletes, the more convinced I become that the method of training is relatively unimportant. There are many ways to the top, and the training method you choose is just the one that suits you best. No, the important thing is the attitude of the athlete, the desire to get to the top." –Herb Elliot (1964)

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"As with anything, if you want to improve as a triathlete you have to pay attention to the details. You need to ensure yourself a sound training program, decent nutrition, a bit of a routine, a familiar and conducive training environment and facilities, well maintained equipment and the opportunity to relax and recover from your training and racing.

Unfortunately in this day and age of information overload, the words 'attention to detail' have morphed into a monster of obsessive focus for many athletes. With the growth of the Internet has come access to more and more information, much of it completely irrelevant. Athletes agonize over heart rate and wattage data, supplement details, course profiles, race altitudes and a plethora of largely immaterial information. Instead of providing a road map to simplicity, this sea of noise has created a false sense of urgent necessity among many, compromising emotional and mental flexibility and leading to a kind of paralysis by analysis." –Mark Becker

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The theme in my last little write-up was today's tendency to make things more complicated than they really are. In particular, training. Training can be as simple as you care to make it (e.g., swim, bike, run, repeat) or as complex as you desire (with the scholarly application of your personal computer, some multifaceted training software, and a whole host of electronic implements, including a power measuring device, a heart rate monitor, a global positioning unit, a chronograph, a blood lactate analyzer, etc.)

If I had to choose between one or the other I'd opt for the simplicity, and not just because I'm lazy or happen to be endowed with an IQ equivalent to that of a window pane. (After all, one man's simplicity is another man's complexity.)

But before delving into this any further it's important to recognize just what training is and what we're trying to do when we take part in it.

Training is nothing more than RACE PRACTICE. It is NOT exercise science and it is NOT computer science. The goal of training, when all is said and done, is to be faster than you were before it. (Twain once quipped, "When all is said and done, more is usually said." Don't be one of those triathletes who talks training more than he trains. Coaches, by the way, are exempt from this. Alan, you and I are okay here.)

With the realization that I had written about all this before, I decided to go rummaging through the collection of old shoeboxes buried deep within the confines of my closet, each of which are filled with scattered notes, mislabeled articles, and pictures of girlfriends past. (Such is my high-tech filing system.) After some reminiscing about the good ol' days and ol' what's her name, I found the following in a triathlon article I once penned. (Incidentally, should what's her name be capitalized? I never really know.) Anyway, here's that piece…

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"Training" is a term heard daily in the triathlete's world (e.g., "Dude, how's the training going?"), and in the simplest sense training is the preparation for something else, that something usually being a triathlon performance in the case of the triathlete. Some triathletes train to finish a triathlon while some train to win them. Some train to improve on past performances, while some train to beat a specific opponent. You do not train for fun.

Fun, you see, is an outcome of its own. And while training can certainly be considered fun, you are not training solely for this reason; you are training for an impending target. If fun is your final intent then what you are doing isn't training, since you're apt to accomplish that each time you take part in your activity. One cannot train for fun; either it's happening or it's not.

Training = the quest for improvement or victory; a means to an end. RACE PRACTICE.

Fun = enjoyment/pleasure/gratification/satisfaction; an end in and of its own.

So, gratification notwithstanding, the reason we train, quite simply, is for improvement. And in this sense the easiest way to know whether your training is working (i.e., effective; that you are indeed improving) is to track the following:

a) Race results
b) Field test results
c) Lab test results
d) All of the above

a) It all begins with your race results. This, after all, is what we train for, whether it is to simply finish a race (which isn't always so simple) or to win the whole enchilada (which is less simple yet), and it is these results that confirm where we stand (or, as it often is in the case of an Ironman, where we crawl, but never mind that). Training should thereby be called RACE PRACTICE, as races are why we train. Whether you're competing against others or yourself matters not. If you train to be faster recreationally and care not to enter a sanctioned race, you are also training, as even your definition of "faster" (i.e., improvement) is a race unto its own.

b) Field test results are a basic (and methinks essential) means in which to see whether (or not) you're improving. A basic test relating to your goal event should be undertaken every week or two, in each discipline. And while you may not see improvement each time you test, you should certainly see improvement in a month-to-month manner. Remember that fitness is seldom stagnate---either it's improving or it's not. Aim for the former.

c) Lab tests can also provide evidence of improvement, except of course in the thickness of your wallet. Not only are they pricey, such tests are also rarely relevant to a triathlon, unless you are able to successively swim then bike then run during them, which has yet to happen in any lab as far as I know. Despite these drawbacks a laboratory can often help you identify what needs improving better than a field test or even a race can.

d) All of the above. This has always been my preferred response to most questions and situations I've faced in life. Once, for example, I had the great fortune of flying first class from somewhere to somewhere else, over a big body of water filled with man-eating sharks. Such outstanding travel accommodations were written into my contract with Gatorade, the primary backer throughout my athletic career. About ten minutes into said flight the flight attendant (who I naïvely referred to as a "stewardess", despite the sideburns and goatee) asked if I'd prefer the chicken, the steak or the salad and soup combo. Well, I'll be damned if I wasn't about to pick all of the above in that situation. I was still eating when we landed in Lanzarote and I barely had to ingest anything throughout the race a few days later.

In your case, the all of the above answer can only further your cause. To begin with, the more you race, the more you'll learn about your capacities (and just how speedily your wallet can shrink). Secondly, the more often you run field tests the better, unless you get neurotically obsessed about the results; give them time to improve and change your training ways if they do not. Finally, lab tests cannot hurt (actually, I lie: they can) and they'll give you better insight as to what genetic gifts your parents bestowed upon you, if any. (On this note: screw you mom and dad!)

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PS: I leave you with some more Twain classics…

"It's not good sportsmanship to pick up lost golf balls while they are still rolling."

"I have never taken any exercise except sleeping and resting."

"There are basically two types of people. People who accomplish things, and people who claim to have accomplished things. The first group is less crowded."

"To succeed in life, you need two things: ignorance and confidence."

Success is Sweet / Success is Sweat

Success is sweet.

Success is sweat.

Ask Simon.

Complexify

Lately there seems to be a trend in triathlon of trying to make things more complex than they really are (*see below as to how they really are). We've all seen it and we all seem to be a part of it. Hell, all you need to do is run a search here on the Triathlon Wide Web or pick up a multisport magazine and you can work your way into a serious confusion-based tizzy. I myself have a short list of blogs I like to track every few days but in recent times more and more of them seem to be filled with detailed scientific graphs and indirect advertisements pushing comprehensive training/tracking software programs. There are lengthy, complex write-ups filled with obscure terminology on how YOU should train. Phrases like "satellite cells" and "sensory acuity" and "central governor" (more commonly known as "brain", an apparatus more and more coaches and athletes seem to be overtraining) are applied far too frequently. Worse yet, at least to me, are the proliferation of abbreviations, as though you're supposed to know what they stand for long before you've ever read them…TSS, LDH, AeT, IF, ATP, COD from UPS, IOU, DUI, SOL, etc (etcetera). It's a bunch of BS if you ask me.

My guess is most the authors who pen this sort of crap probably don't fully comprehend what they're saying but come to the conclusion that the phrases sound pretty damn cool and thereby makes them look equally as hip. After all, employing the use of complicated language is a pretty damn good way to make it seem like you know what you are talking about. Complexity is the multiple layers we like to add to simple ideas in an attempt to add scale, or to extract more than really exists. To me, however, it all sounds quite condescending, as though the author of such garbage is almost trying to talk above the rest of us, and not to us. After all, if others can't possibly identify with what you are lecturing on about, then they're not about to question your authority! The assumption is made that you must know what the hell you're talking about, which of course, isn't always the case.

Now I'll admit I've even been guilty of this from time to time. Once, for example, I used the term "mitochondria" in front of a bunch of high school kids I was coaching. But if you were to ask me to draw this mitochondria character, it would look something like what I've attempted in the chalkboard depiction above. You see, I have no real idea what mitochondria look/looks like, or if it/they is/are singular or plural or what it/they does/do. I've read all about the stuff but for some reason I cannot understand the link between it and doing your best in a triathlon. The thing is, I'd be willing to bet neither could Emma Snowsill or Chrissie Wellington, despite the fact the two of them could easily kick your scientific ass. And while I'll admit it sounded pretty cool to throw the term out in front of a bunch of kids who could easily swim and run circles around me, they were able just as easily to see right through me.

"Mr. V," one of them said at point blank, "You're a schmuck."

It's nice to know I had earned their respect.

But where this whole complexity thing gets really out of control is at coaching conferences. One time, way back when, I attended such a conference and almost immediately came to the conclusion that I didn't really fit in with the other coaches (never mind that I don't really fit in anywhere, save maybe here). One speaker after the other got up and gave their presentation, droning on about muscular oxygen uptake, sensory acuity, nymphomaniac mitochondriacs and whatnot. Let me tell you, this was about as exciting as exciting gets. When it was my turn to get up and say a few words, they had to wake me up. But I wasn't the only one sleeping through these presentations; most the speakers themselves were too.

And so I recommend to you, if you're after improvement you too should wake up and listen up. Just as I said during that fateful presentation, "We don't train to accomplish any of what these other coaches have tried to coax you into believing. We train to IMPROVE, and to do our best. We train to perform and to win. And while triumph is no doubt defined differently for each of us, it is far easier to comprehend than anything you've heard here in this crowded room this afternoon. Sure, it's imperative to understand what training does to your body, but it is far more important to know why you are training and what your training is leading you toward, and to have 100% belief in the process. Simplify! Thank you." Of the few who weren't still asleep, I received a standing ovation.

Remember: it is easy to over-complicate things; it is far more difficult to keep them simple. Go the hard route. And, anyway, as a triathlete (scientific name: Personas Miultiplus-Sportis Neuroticus), it's a route you're already well aware of.

Oh, and if you're a coach, you should know that the best coaches in the world, no matter the sport, are all great simplifiers. Bye bye, byzantine ways!

"Nature's way is simple and easy, but men prefer what is intricate and artificial." --Lao Tzu

"Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication." --Leonardo Da Vinci

*Here's how complex those things really are:
1) Enjoy the training (Neanderthrill!)
2) Make sure the training has you improving
3) Be sure that improvement is specific to the event for which you are training
4) Believe in the training (this, of course, is entirely dependent on #1, 2 & 3)

Hope

"Training is principally an act of faith." --Franz Stampfl (1955)

"Belief is the thermostat that regulates all success." --Anonymous

I've finally figured out why I'm not filthy rich or famous. I coach triathletes. (Oh, and you'll note there's no comma between filthy and rich). Anyway, it's a brutal reality and I'm forced to face facts: Hollywood would never throw together a movie about a triathlon coach, especially one who hasn't maimed anyone (or been caught maiming anyone, anyway). You see, Hollywood wants characters that are in possession of big loud firearms or really fast cars that can leave the ground, neither of which I possess (or care to). A chase scene involving a multisport coach having to push-start his old Datsun pick-up truck just wouldn't have the same effect, even if really speedy music (Kenny G or Yanni, for example) were blasting through the Surround Sound speakers. Yes, the best one could hope for as a multi-sport coach is that an athlete of his might achieve his or her goals.

And this is the thing about coaching. No matter what any other coach tries to tell/sell you, much of your relationship with him/her is based on HOPE. And while my hopes of becoming a movie star grow fainter with each passing triathlon season I still cling to the hope that when race day arrives the athletes I guide NAIL IT. There are no guarantees in coaching or racing (or in life) of course, and it makes for a tough occupation to choose. For example, you can write the best script (training program) imaginable, but then have Tom Cruise act it out. (No offense to Tom, but my guess is he'd be a better triathlete than he is an actor, but then again, that's not saying much…)

So why do coaches coach?

Well, because there are hordes of athletes out there who haven't a clue as to what they're doing, and they could use the help. (Unfortunately, this also applies to many of the coaches themselves, but let's pay no heed to that for now.) To boot, loads of these athletes have money to burn; paying someone to assist you in achieving a hard-to-reach goal is as good as any other way to spend it (and is, in my estimation, a far superior disbursement of funds than purchasing a pricey bicycle might be, depending on the coach chosen of course) and coaches are sure to advertise this to prospective athletes.

But if hope is such a big part of it all, then what good is a coach?

Because hope beats the alternative.

Now of course it's implicitly understood that hope is not an effective strategy in life (or, for that matter, in triathlon). And while your training must certainly instill hope, you still need to know you're far better off whether your hope has increased or not. You need to know that while your coach may not drive a fast car that can leave the ground, he or she possesses the tools that can help bring out your best. And you should see it occurring, maybe not during every single workout, but little by little. There needs to be a trend revealed that proves you're better now than you were then, whenever then was and now is (ideally then is before coach and now is after coach). And if it's not your race results themselves, that trend must also relate to your final destination, your goal. If, for example, training shows progress in your slam-dunking skills but you're training for a triathlon, it's not really the right kind of training, I'm afraid. But back to the then and now thing for a second. A wise old coach once told me that while it takes time to bring out your absolute best you can also do it at this very moment, along with the next moment and the next one and the next. To be your best then, all you've got to do is be your best now and up until then. How easy is that?!

PS: To be or not to be continued. I have to drive to the store and I forgot to park on a hill. Ugh.

PPS: Congrats to Heather and Trevor and Stuart during yesterday's Ironman Coeur d'Alene. Not a bad way to spend summer solstice you guys!

"Peak" Fitness: Does it Exist?

peeking: (pēk-ēng) intr v: copping a glance when you know you shouldn't be (e.g., with his favorite chainsaw in hand and his head covered in a ski mask, the skinny triathlete was caught peeking in the first-floor sorority window.)

OOPS! Silly Chuckie! Not that kind of peeking!

peaking: (pēk-ēng) n: 1: the culmination of your "periodized" training plan, designed to allow you to perform your best when it matters most (i.e., race day); 2: when all systems are go

We often hear about "peak fitness" or "peaking" but does it really exist?

Recently I wrote an extensive dissertation on the subject of tapering, a topic many coaches claim to be the most crucial part of an athlete's training plan (to which you may know by now---had you examined my ramblings---I vociferously disagree). By partaking in a taper you essentially assert your belief in the whole notion of "peaking" or "peak fitness" (to which I do too, despite my stance that the taper is but a minor element of it, and that peaking is as much mental as it is physical). Without peaking there is little use for a taper. Tapering is designed, ideally, to bring you to your personal "peak" (even if it's merely a molehill). But again I pose: does this purported "peak" truly exist?

If we take a peek at the great coaches and athletes of the world (the one we're on now) we see that the vast majority of them obviously believe in "peaking," as they indeed make use of a "periodized" plan in which "peak fitness" is the main aim. Besides this, dozens of studies done in laboratories filled with nerdly exercise physiologists have also "proven" the prospect of peak performance. Moreover, of all the books on my bookshelf (including those precariously perched atop my toilet) every single one of them takes the stance that "peaking" is a given.

Therefore, one can only deduce that such "peak fitness" exists. Hell, with regards to the last example, the respective authors' don't even mull over for a sentence that it might not. Nor do they, for that matter, seem to even consider that an athlete could possibly sustain "peak fitness" for a lengthy period of time. But I aver that some peaks (not unlike Longs Peak on the Colorado Front Range or Mount Whitney here in California) are wide and flat, in spite of their supreme height!

"Peak fitness" might just therefore be a relative term and therefore not so scientifically based. If someone never reaches his or her "peak" but yet manages to continually kick everyone else's ass, including those who have "peaked," well then, maybe their foothills are higher and broader than everyone else's utmost apex. I've known plenty of athletes like this and though they don't always win, they're always in contention. Simon Whitfield and Craig Alexander come to mind.

One trainer I know doesn't seem to believe in "peaking" at all, and he's the most established coach in multisport, having coached numerous world champions, including at one time the two athletes who won last year's Hawaiian Ironman. He just cranks out strong, solid athletes who perform at (or at least near) their best time and again.

"Peaking is a f*king myth," says another coach who assured me he preferred to remain anonymous. Perhaps he didn't want me to use his real name for fear that the three people who read my blog might also send him death threats, but there are others who also believe "peaking" is little more than a charade.

As I alluded to early in this blog my own conviction is that "peaking" exists, but only with an asterisk attached to it---*more about that in due time. Speaking personally, I happen to know that peaking is real, even though more often than not I have mistimed these "peaks" in the past. Of course, mistiming such a "peak" is really no big deal if you're still near your summit when race day arrives. Remember: you may be over the hill---your own hill that is [this has nothing to do with age]---but yet on top of everyone else's, you king of the mountain, you. This of course implies that your summit still needs to be at least as high as the next guy's. It also assumes he's either less "gifted" than you or below his fitness zenith, whether on this side or that.

(In this vein, most coaches seem to agree that you're better off peaking "too late" than you are too early, spouting off endless verbal diarrhea about the possibility of being overtrained and whatnot. Again, I tend to disagree and not just 'cause it's my style. Methinks 'tis far better to find fitness early and then worry about what to do with it, if only for psychological reasons. This fits in with my theme that the athletes who know they're fit almost always beat the athletes who think they are; don't fall for the façade that is ego. Be self-assured instead.)

Irrespective of the lengthy tangent in parenthesis above, it's this very idea that brings me to my closing thoughts: if you're concerned about peaking *but haven't taken strides to stand atop your own foundation of foothills, you're probably better off not worrying about the whole peaking process, specifically the tapering of your training. (Hell, even the "sharpening phase" of your training will leave a lot to be desired without an underlying foundation preceding it; hard training is best carried out when your body demands it).

Without a sufficient foundation of fitness you're prone to suffer from some form of "peak-a-boo," the incessant whiny cry so often heard when an athlete's peak performance turns out to be anything but peak-like. (For what it's worth, such cries classically emanate from ego-ridden males in the 25-29, 30-34 and 35-39 age-groups). So why worry about putting the icing on your cake when you don't even have all the ingredients in place to bake one? Look, you can have your cake and eat it too, but it needs to start from scratch and be one of those multi-layered monsters, not unlike those triple-decker ones that always seem to topple over in movies when the groom finds out the bride has cankles. (I hate to say it, but no foundation is gonna support that, my friend. My advice? Be sure to inspect her mother closely…that's all I have to say about that.)

PS: Here are some additional cake analogies, since you're apt to be hungry for more…

• Cupcakes taste good but they simply cannot hold up to an entire cake. Build a big cake or you'll be serving yourself a slice of humble pie.

• Akin to those cookie-cutter coaching programs, you can pick up a pre-made cake (like those purportedly "scrumptious" ones that advertise, "just add eggs and milk") but I can pretty much guarantee you the results of which are gonna taste like sh!t compared to one that takes forethought and time to make.

• The icing is often the unhealthiest part of the cake. Build an extra healthy foundation if you're going to jeopardize it all by smothering it with risk.

• An Ironman ain't no piece of cake. And despite the fact most of us walk during one, it's no cakewalk either.

• Baking a cake at altitude is different than baking one at sea level.

• When you're caked in sunscreen, you can't get baked.

PPS: Not that this has anything to do with anything, but Cake, one of my all-time favorite bands, wrote the single best line to have ever entered my hairy, waxy ear canals…

♪ Bowel shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse
Assail him, impale him, with monster truck force ♫

Don't doubt your training. Reach base camp before reaching your peak. In the words of Abraham Lincoln: "If I had eight hours to chop down a tree; I'd spend six of them sharpening the axe."

Park City Utah

Below are some pictures of this week's trip to Park City, Utah. Angela and I drove from Solvang, CA and checked out the Ironman St. George layout en route, along with a few other points of interest, namely the Pacific Crest Trail, where I paid homage and promised a return. The Wal*Mart sign left us wondering just how many ill children this country needs to manufacture before we consider changing our ways, while the snake was in our driveway as we left on our 900-mile drive (A Chuckie standard: Always take the scenic route).

The remainder of the pictures are from Park City (and its surrounding area) and an athlete I coach who'd rather not be mentioned by name (he's quite well-known since his movies bring him in eight figures apiece). A little reconnaissance has me certain I'll be returning here in the near future for some high-altitude training camps and for some summer residence. The roads are empty once outside of town and the scenery unreal, not unlike Solvang but about 7,000 feet higher. I've always felt that altitude should be a part of any serious endurance athlete's training protocol, if at all possible. More about altitude training in a future blog, I'm sure.

The Science of Tapering is an Art ... Part 1

Now that race season is in full swing here in the northern hemisphere (on Earth), I've decided to write a few (hundred) thoughts about tapering, mostly as they relate to an Ironman. You might want to read this in sections so you don't get fired when your boss sneaks up behind you. For this very reason I've labeled them in "parts" and have posted them as separate blog entries (considerate, eh?). If you care enough, click here for Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, and Part 8. If you don't care enough, I don't care at all.

PART ONE: TAPER? OVER-TAPER?

What is tapering?

Tapering is basically a cutback in training load (volume, intensity, frequency) intended to allow the athlete to rejuvenate, both physically and mentally and even hypothetically. Tapering is employed when an athlete wishes to bring out a peak performance. Peaking is essentially a state of optimal physical and psychological readiness that (theoretically) enables the athlete to perform at his or her best. A taper should be played out with this objective at the fore.

Tapering, of course, is The Big Unknown (a lot like outer space or the fate of the world or for me personally, the weird and wonderful workings of womankind). Just as it is with a given training stimulus, a reduction in training load (i.e., taper) affects everyone differently, and that includes you and you and that guy over there with the cleanly-shaven chest and the M-dot tattoo. Worse yet, the same exact taper might even affect YOU differently from one event to the next.

Quite simply, there are too many variables involved with tapering, most of which are tough to control, not unlike a hyperactive child riding a Red Bull buzz. Another hitch is that very few studies, if any, have been done on Ironman athletes and their respective tapers. Most taper studies have been on swimmers, for events lasting a whopping two minutes. Hardly germane to our impending daylong escapades. Worse yet, tapering has been shown to produce less improvement in runners than in swimmers. So, where does that leave the triathlete? I mean, besides lost?

My personal view (which is often obscured by a murky memory and visions of grandeur, though we'll overlook that for now) on tapering is this:

1) It is more art (ART: Adaptive Response Taken) than it is science
and…
2) You better be sure you first have something to taper from.

Regarding this second point, when it comes to Ironman tapering, you're best off not to lose too much fitness if you haven't been training up to your ultimate capacity. (By the way, that's really all tapering is about: keeping fit but being relatively rested as race date rears its ugly head. We call this "form," or the optimal balance between fitness and fatigue, which tend to trend alike.) You should probably err on the side of "keeping it rolling," particularly if you haven't been piling in pro-like training volumes (which you would likely be capable of, if it were not for the rest of your frenzied existence or your advancing age). And when it comes to "keeping it rolling," I like to look no further than the Tour de France competitors, who go out and ride during the Tour's "rest days," often fairly hard.

From experience, I've watched far too many triathletes reach race day waaaay out of shape. (Or at least that's what it appears like; naturally their respective tapers may have had little to do with it.) If, for example, you're thinking of reducing your training load or volume over the standardized three-week linear taper that so many inexperienced coaches tout, from say, fifteen training hours each week to four or five, I can assure you you're going to lose too much aerobic capacity come race day, regardless of what your fitness is--or isn't--like going into those three weeks. It's a slippery slope you're sliding down; you simply don't have the requisite Ironman-dependent volume/fitness to start hacking away at it (i.e., the hay ain't in the barn). You're essentially just tapering from a tapered attempt at training, ceasing the building process to prematurely taper.

Quite often athletes erroneously aim for being "fresh" when Ironman day arrives, when they really just need to focus on being rested. Semantics perchance, but there's a difference. While freshness may enable you to feel frickin' fantastic all week---at the race expo and at the pre-race pasta feed---shortly after the race gets underway you'll come to the realization that you're not so fresh anymore. And how could you be? You haven't really trained for a few weeks. A lot can happen to the human body in two or three weeks and idleness will assure you that it does.

On the other hand being rested simply means being equipped to face the adversity that Ironmans inevitably present, with unfaltering fitness as your weapon of choice. (Remember, fitness is another word for suitability, strength, sturdiness and vigor, all of which are necessary to survive an Ironman. By the way, nobody thrives during an Ironman, so get that through your hazy head right now.) And speaking of weapons, a dull knife is often more dangerous than a sharp one; don't try to be too sharp.

Now, before delving into this any further, I can already hear the murmurs: what makes me the expert on tapering?

First things first, (after all, they seldom come second), anybody who knows me will tell you I'm no expert. In fact, quite a few people who don't know me will tell you this. And I would too: I'm no expert (except maybe in denial, hedonism and of course Scrabble). But I've personally tried virtually every kind of taper, some of which even tapered upward in volume and intensity, like an upside-down funnel. I've also had the athletes I've coached (note the past tense!) undertake nearly every taper type. What I've found for the most part is that…

Larger training loads require longer taper periods.

No doubt a chronically big training load demands different taper needs than does a chronically deficient training load. This is why I'm forced to chuckle when Mark Allen recommends a MONTH-LONG taper in those silly magazine articles. Sure, he may have required a full lunar-cycle taper but then again his training volume was still fairly generous three weeks into such a taper; said training volume would probably kill you or me, just as such a drawn-out taper would do to our chances on race day. You'd lose much too much fitness in such a time span, making an Ironman far more difficult than it already is. All told, the length of the taper should reflect the degree of accumulated fatigue you've developed during the training process.

So if you haven't put in the big Mark Allen-esque training loads, your taper needn't be as long. If Mark was training 35-40+ hours a week (he was; I was there) and you're training but half as much, it makes sense that your taper might just need to be half as long. Even then, your fitness foundation is likely floundering and a fortnight of decline might erode it completely. This is because the aerobic system---the energy system used throughout an Ironman---takes forever to develop but is lost, alas, rather quickly. Don't purposefully go losing it.

And with regards to losing it, in one of the several exercise physiology textbooks that sit at the ready atop my toilet there's a line to the effect of, "Less training is required to maintain fitness than it is to build it, and so tapering does not lead to a loss of fitness." This, however, is obviously a very loaded sentence.

Most of us have never finished building our fitness!

And I propose that this is almost entirely the case when it comes to Ironman athletes, due to the nature of the event (that nature is this: extensive, grueling, painful, arduous, challenging, punishing, strenuous and often tedious) and because most of us who do Ironmans know we cannot be fully prepared, no thanks to the realities outside the sport (life), as previously alluded to. (Note the word "do" in place of the word "race" in this sentence; this is a key distinction when participating in Ironman events.)

So why is it we forget all this during a taper? Do we really think we're supposed to feel fresh throughout an Ironman? Do we really believe we're at our fittest going in?

Look people, Ironman ain't a tampon ad. You're not going to feel fresh. Nor will you be blithely frolicking through fields of fragrant flowers! You'll be closer to full-on PMS mode than you will that. As Tom Warren said after becoming the first-ever Ironman, "Let's just say I don't feel much like dancing." That's the hard truth of Ironman. Nobody feels fresh after one and few feel fresh halfway into the cycling segment. Show me someone feels fresh starting the marathon and I'll show you someone who better be in contention to win the race. Like drinking and driving, freshness and Ironman simply don't mix. But instead of a DUI, you'll likely earn yourself a DNF.

What's more, you could always be fitter, and this is especially the case for those of us (not me) who work for a living…outside of training and properly recovering all day. Until you reach this level of fitness---and, let's face it, few Ironman athletes can: perhaps professional triathletes, part-time professional athletes (i.e., those whose "work" and "real life" schedule allows them to train all day) and retirees---you needn't worry about the taper process but rather your fitness development (i.e., your race readiness). Ironman readiness demands fitness. Only after this has been established should you concern yourself with how tapered you are.

To boot, tapering won't help you deal with inevitable hardships that an Ironman dishes out. Your readiness revolves more around your physical toughness and your mental tenacity than it does your "freshness," both of which are honed through hard training, training containing serious doses of iron in it. Paula Newby-Fraser used to call an Ironman, "crisis management." This is the single best description of the event I have heard yet.

Okay, I think my point has been made: GET FIT; DON'T OVER-TAPER; KEEP IT ROLLING.

The rest is up to you.

The Science of Tapering is an Art ... Part 2

PART TWO: THOSE WHO REFUSE

Now, with all this said (written actually…unless you've been reading aloud), it's important to recognize that fitness takes time to build. It does not happen overnight. So why is it we see so many triathletes completely disregard any type of taper process and cram in some last-minute training before an Ironman?

This is due to one of two reasons. One, they simply lack confidence in their fitness. Or two, they want to show off their fitness (and that hot body of theirs).

Regarding the first reason, they essentially know they're not prepared for what an Ironman presents and so the rationale is to try to make up for lost time/fitness. I did a similar thing during the one semester of college I attended, by never opening my textbooks until the night before an exam. I passed, but only by the skin of my ground-down, coffee-stained teeth.

As far as the second cause goes, there's little to say about athletes who want to show-off pre-race. We've all seen such (head)cases. All I can say is save it for race day buddy. And quit shaving your chest! Andy Potts doesn't even shave his legs and my guess is he'd open a serious can of Whoop Ass on your cleanly-shaven ass. Get over the way you look and start looking at the way you perform. If you look good and perform well, well then, welcome to my world.

In his most excellent tome, The Lore of Running, (a book we should all own) Tim Noakes writes, "While observing the 1998 Hawaiian Ironman Triathlon, I was struck by what I considered the needless training, especially running, that so many triathletes were performing during the last week before the race. I strongly believe that the compulsion for training, so necessary to complete the arduous preparation for ultramarathon foot-races and triathlons, must be replaced with an equal compulsion for near total rest the week before an important race." (4th edition; page 653)

While I don't entirely agree with Noakes (in that most of us fail to possess taper-worthy fitness going into the race) I do think what he says is plainly obvious. The take home message is that if you know you're not ready to face an Ironman you have to accept the consequences. You're not going to get fit race week, psycho boy. You're not even going to get fit if race week were race month. It takes more time than that to build true Ironman fitness and the benefits of any type of endurance training typically take ten to fourteen days to realize. Maintain, but don't expect to build. That's what tapering means.

Click here for Part 3 on Tapering

The Science of Tapering is an Art ... Part 3

PART THREE: THE TAPER TANTRUM Let the (head) games begin!

A common occurrence when tapering is what I like to call "Taper Tantrum." Now this isn't a serious condition with a long list of hazardous side effects like explosive chronic oily discharge or anything quite so graphic, but it is nonetheless a reality. Despite this, there's no need to ask your doctor about Taper Tantrum and whether antidepressants are right for you.

Basically, during a Taper Tantrum the athlete finds him or herself in a panicky state of restlessness. We hear about this a lot during an athlete's taper and, quite honestly, as a coach I hear about it far more than I care to. Generally speaking, restlessness is a good thing, so long as it lasts well into the race itself. If you find yourself a week out and feeling restless, you might be onto something, particularly if you've completed your homework beforehand.

However, if such restlessness turns into a full-blown Taper Tantrum, to the point you've grown more and more agitated and manage to piss-off everyone around you, including your (soon-to-be ex) spouse, then you might NOT be onto something. Go out and relieve yourself (and the rest of us), by doing some training, but do so only by hiking or spinning very easily. After all, you're an IRONman (or about to be) and you ought to be able to handle a little exercise before your so-called big day.

This is where Mitch Gold and I completely see eye-to-eye. Mitch states in his excellent essay "Taper Interrupted" that an "Ironman is just another training day and nothing magical is going to happen just because it's race day," and I wholeheartedly concur. Expecting to pull out a performance that you haven't seen (signs of) in training is expecting failure. The point is to relax, trust in your training (if you don't trust in it hire a qualified coach the next time around) and remember that this Ironman sh!t is really just one big game, not unlike life itself. Embrace the chaos. Most of all, and I read this online somewhere, you should consider the help and support you have received to get to the start line. Don't compromise this by getting cranky and stressed as race day approaches. The environment you want be in should be relaxed and friendly. After all, without everyone else there wouldn't be a race.

Click here for Part 4 on Tapering

The Science of Tapering is an Art ... Part 4

PART FOUR: CONSIDERATIONS

To simplify the basics of tapering I've come up with a bulleted list of key elements. Tapering is an individual matter, no matter what anyone, even the author of this Pulitzer-winning blog entry, tries to tell you. There is no "one-size-fits-all" approach. There are, however, a few worthwhile guidelines and/or considerations…

• Don't aim to be fresh going into an Ironman. Instead, be READY. Consider taking more rest early, and then "keep it rolling" up to two or three days before the race. As I've advised athletes in the past, "Back off until you feel like crap and then back ON!" During those last two or three days, however, rest up; at this point less is more. And this Ironman shit is tough.
  

• One way to ensure that you are ready is to space your harder workouts far enough apart to fully recover and regenerate, assuming you've been doing harder (i.e., Ironman-specific) workouts. If you haven't been, taper time is too late for it. If you've done it, have confidence in the work you've done.

• Don't alter too much of what you've been doing (i.e., don't rework what's been working) and instead focus on specificity and rest; specificity for an Ironman generally doesn't entail high intensities or going fast! Nor is an Ironman all that hard, at least not until late in the game. If you haven't been training intensely all along, now is not the time to introduce it. It can be a big temptation to add "quality" to your training when tapering since you'll likely be feeling more and more moxie, but you need to understand that increasing the intensity has a substantial impact on your total training load; doing so could prevent you from shedding accumulated fatigue.
  

• If you've been training a paltry twelve to fifteen weekly hours with an elevated percentage of higher-than-race-intensity training thrown into the mix, you might consider tapering your intensity first and then your volume, as an Ironman itself is big-volume event. Disregard the usual notion of "intensity" and the physiologists and coaches who hype high-intensity training. I proclaim that no one can hold "high intensity" throughout an Ironman! (Though I will admit that "intensity" is a relative term and that you can easily be intensely fatigued or sore, thus making an Ironman "high intensity"). Coaches who maintain that you should continue or increase high intensity training throughout the taper, but without the requisite volume that an Ironman dictates, are essentially asking you to expect more and more from less and less. This contradicts the very premise of an Ironman, an extremely excessive event that chews up and spits these types out.

• Resist the urge to "test" your fitness. Either it's there or it's not, and whatever the case may be there's not much you can do about it. Look forward not back. If you want to test yourself then test your capacity to relax and clear the mind from those nasty little thoughts attempting to sidetrack you from your game plan.

• Don't taper for all your races, just the biggies (i.e., "peak" races, or "A" races). Save all other tapering for your bowel movements. Tapering more than once or twice each season is to detrain.
  

• Don't get massage during your taper if you haven't been all along. (This fits under the axiom that "if it ain't broken…" and this same truism pertains to your diet, your equipment, your routine and everything else that doesn't need fixing.) Although massage can help ease fatigue and fatigue limits performance in endurance events, it's imperative to recognize that massage is really just another form of stress that needs to be adapted to over a longer timeframe than what a taper might otherwise allow for. It's also wise to get some blood moving after a massage, and your "normal" training routine likely allows for this better than your taper might.
  

• One process I typically have athletes look into is to taper the run volume/intensity first, then the bike's, and finally the swim's, as shown in the elaborate graph in my initial taper blog. This is quite common at the highest levels of our sport and favorable evidence is piling up as for its merit.

• Two weeks out from race day it could be worth considering running every other day, and on softer surfaces as race day draws nearer. Running is generally a destructive activity, certainly more so than cycling or swimming. Recall that the whole purpose of tapering is to simply strip away any lingering fatigue you may be encountering and running, while revitalizing in one sense, is fatiguing like few other activities (mosh pit dancing and drug abuse notwithstanding, naturally).

• Consider a nutritional taper. As Ironman day draws near and you begin to expend less and less energy, you don't need to gorge yourself and gain five pounds that last week or two. Meet all your nutritional needs and only them! This is another reason I advise those I coach to "keep it rolling"…so that they don't start rolling in their own flesh-enclosed vat of lard.

• Plan backwards from race day: figure out when you'll be traveling and make sure that you have time to check the race course out in its entirety. Driving the bike course is often as tiring as riding it, so give yourself a few days to recover. Conversely, you could buy a Lamborghini and drive it in less than an hour.

• Without shortchanging yourself of needed zzz's, start waking up at the same time you'll have to on race morning, from about two weeks out. Get your internal clock/circadian rhythm/bio-rhythm on race time, otherwise known as Hammer Time. Can't touch this.

• Avoid falling ill (drink a lot, sleep enough, eat right, train within reason and avoid sick people!) and avoiding doing anything dumb. As alluded to above, buying new equipment just before the race is dumb. Look, if you've got money to burn, send it my way (care of Chuckie V., 2805 Refugio Rd., Santa Ynez, CA 93460) and you'll get a nice, warm fuzzy feeling that you're helping an ex-pro athlete gain weight and perhaps one day pull himself above the poverty line. Large bills preferred, but LaraBars will do.

• Be calm. Nervous energy takes energy…from you. After registering for the race, visiting the expo, and seeing everyone in "Race Mode," it's easy to get swept along by the atmosphere and forget why you're there in the first place. In case you need reminding, you're there to do an Ironman. Socialize on your butt or over the Internet (that is if the Internet is truly a "social" experience).

• Be organized. Think through the logistics and your strategy of the race. Disorganization leads to stress (trust me, I should know), which in turn drains energy.

• As alluded to already, stay off your feet and stay out from under the sun the last few days. Put your feet up and find yourself some great blogs to read, like the masterpiece you're currently checking out.

• Know that the only race you can control is your own (unless, that is, you decide to pop somebody in the nose with your elbow during the swim. No comment. Let's just say I hope Tony DeBoom doesn't read this. At any rate, the jerk still beat me!)

• Even if you're physically prepared for race day, know that you'll also need plenty of mental tenacity throughout it---training is primarily physical; racing is mostly mental. Be FULLY prepared for the struggle that is Ironman. Of course, the only real way to know whether or not you're prepared is to do one. DO ONE. And be prepared to do more of them; they're highly addictive. Just refrain from getting one of those lame M-dot tattoos etched onto your shaven chest. I mean really.

Click here for Part 5 of this Taper series.

The Science of Tapering is an Art ... Part 5

PART FIVE: MORE CONSIDERATIONS

Some of the particulars I generally advise for your biggest, most "important" race of the year…

• If you've been training a consistent 30 hours a week or more, you might consider a Mark Allen-esque taper. Oh, and get a life.

• If you've been training a consistent 25 hours a week, you might consider a three-week taper.

• If you've been training a consistent 20 hours a week, you might consider a two-week taper.

• If you've been training a consistent 15 hours a week, you might consider a one-week taper.

• If you've been training less than 15 hours a week, you might consider skipping a taper until a few days out.

• If you haven't been training at all, you should consider getting off your lazy, shaven ass before it's too late, fatty.

Click here for Part 6 of this Taper series: The Rebound Taper.

The Science of Tapering is an Art ... Part 6

PART SIX: THE REBOUND TAPER

Introducing my Highly Sophisticated and Patented "Яebound TapeЯ"®

This is the most successful taper I've personally used and one I will use if I ever decide to enter another Ironman (assuming I can manage to scrounge up enough dough for the entry fee). I also have tried it with the pros I guide, but with a little less success to this point (but still yet successfully). The gist is that I basically rested well in advance of my bigger races and then "rebounded" back up in volume and intensity as race date drew closer.

It goes like this…

For an Ironman I'd aim to train consistently for 24 weeks or so. It didn't always work out because I didn't always work out, regrettably. But when it did (and I did), oh man was it ever glorious! The taper, no matter the type, was always secondary to the build-up.

Anyway, as race day drew nearer I began to take stock of the situation. If I knew I was super fit a month out I was in a good but somewhat dicey position. Dicey because it meant I might peak too soon, something I'd managed a few times before. So I again took stock, this time of my fatigue levels, as reported to me not just by my brain (which always seems drained) but via the data provided to me by my power meter and heart rate monitor and GPS unit.

If the numbers all looked good---meaning I knew I'd been competitive in the past having generated such figures---I wasn't about to change anything. Conversely, if they began to revert to their old unfit ways, proving I was indeed fatigued beyond the norm (or simply not training…which was seldom the case when race day was imminent), I began tapering by sharply reducing my volume and intensity for two to two and a half weeks. This left me hungry, cranky, heavy, agitated, motivated and ten or so days outside of my race. Only the motivation meant I was ready to race well and every time I tried racing with such a standard approach I bombed. Heavy, hungry, agitated and cranky do little for your mindset or your race.

So, at this point, ten days out, I began to increase the training load again, with a tightly controlled preparation that had me integrating race-like intensities with race-like volumes, though rarely both at once. Basically, I either rode long and easy or short and hard (Ironman hard, that is) and was sure to do the same with my running and swimming. I left the long and hard stuff out. (No sexual innuendos intended, I swear!)

For about a week I rebounded and ramped things up, watching my extra weight dissolve, my mood swings settle, my blood volume increase, my hunger stabilize and my enthusiasm soar. Quite simply I felt darn good and I attribute it to the laws of inertia---that a body in motion tends to stay in motion. Then, three days from race day, I'd train as though I was capable of anything (that's basically how I felt), finally shutting all systems down that afternoon. Two days before the race I'd completely relax and catch-up on some reading and navel contemplation, calculatedly burning a grand total of about a raisin's worth of calories. My energy seemed infinite.

The day before the race I would go through the swim-bike-run motions and make sure my equipment felt loved.

And wouldn't you know? Voila! I found myself on the verge of some previously unseen performances. In one race, the Vineman half-Ironman (none of this lame "70.3" sh!t, thank you), I finished behind a pro named Greg Whiteley. He passed me for dead about halfway into the run (the ex-13-minute 5K runner passed a lot of us during that run) but a few miles later I found a gear within me that had him on the ropes. When we crossed the finish line, just a few seconds apart, he turned to me and said, "I've been a competitive runner all my life and I've never run so scared." I would get the better of him a month later at Ironman Canada, having outrun him and a fast little 2:48 Ironman marathoner name Shingo Tani for the victory.

Boing! My Яebound TapeЯ® had been invented.

History has since proven it to work with a wide array of athletes, some of whom I've guided and some who've figured it out on their own. I suggest giving it a try, attempting it first in training, all the meanwhile tracking your performances and your responses.

Click here for Part 7 of this Taper series.

The Science of Tapering is an Art ... Part 7

PART SEVEN: FOR YOU ELITES

Most of what I've written has been intended for the working triathlete, those of you who work at something other than being a triathlete. For the professional triathletes amongst us the main message still applies, namely spacing your harder/longer (i.e., more demanding) workouts further and further apart to be sure fatigue doesn't get the better of you as race day closes in (assuming there is a better of you). You can plan for the "perfect" taper all you care to, pulling out your calculators and your silly software programs, but the truth is that there are simply too many variables involved to accurately gauge how your responses will unfurl. It's better to observe them doing so, and then make adjustments on the fly. Use not only your power meter and heart rate monitor but also your intuition and experience. If you have neither of these latter two components, you can always wing it.

Click here for Part 8 of this Taper series.

The Science of Tapering is an Art ... Part 8

PART EIGHT: LINKS & REFERENCES

Some taper-related links and references (If you know of any I should add, please tell me)…

"Taper Interrupted" by Mitch Gold
"Mythbusting: The Ironman Taper" by Alun Woodward
"Tapering is Tricky" by Matt Fitzgerald
"The Art of the Ironman Taper" by Matt Fitzgerald (beware Matt's old opener to every other sentence: "studies show" or "research proves"…such studies likely didn't include you. Furthermore, sport-related studies are only really proven on race day). But we do know that research causes cancer in mice.
"The Perfect Taper" by Mark Allen (Perfect?! Come on now Mark!)
"Five Perfect Weeks to Kona" by Mark Allen
Dave Scott's taper recommendations
Dave Scott's 4 Key Areas of Tapering
"Ironman Hawaii Taper" by Rock Frey
"The Taper Blues" by Gale Bernhardt
"Hitting the Taper Right" by Dan Empfield
"Athletes consider the best ways to Taper" by Tim Mickelborough
"Taking your Taper Seriously" by Cliff English
"Tapering: The Art of Detachment" by Sue Aquila

Do a search on Google! ("Tapering for an Ironman", etc.)