A whole lot of Surprise!

So I want to announce some rather crazy news.  Two months ago - November 14th precisely, I was diagnosed with type I diabetes.  Crazy right.  Well type 1 isn't exactly what I have, but functionally it the same.  What I have is called LADA.  That's latent autoimmune diabetes of adults.  Sometimes it's called type 1.5.

So what does that mean?  Well, a lot.  I am 'insulin dependent'.  But I'm not a huge fan of that term - I'm dependent on a lot of things.  And while focusing on the insulin is obviously a huge part of my 'treatment', I would rather think of myself as 'food dependent' or 'lifestyle dependent'.  But it doesn't really matter what it's called anyways.

What matters is what I have already learned.  I've learned a lot.  A lot about diabetes, but also a lot about myself - and not just physically.  As a result I feel that I have also changed a lot.  I am very lucky to have already developed a very useful knowledge base and skill set.  In all honesty I don't think diabetes could have picked on a worse target.

I have an extensive scientific background.  I've passed classes in Anatomy Physiology courses in High School, twice in college and even post-college when I was considering my future career change.  My first job out of college (which lasted 8 years) was in working as a Researcher in Biochemistry at the UW.  I worked in the same building as one of the best diabetes and metabolic disease research labs you could find in the country.  And I paid attention.

And that's just the science side of things.  My other skills have also helped greatly.  Prior to diagnosis I would have already considered myself a 'Foodie'.   I have cooking skills.  I think I convinced my wife to first date me because of our joint interest in breakfast food, although maybe I was more interested than she was.  I also have a very diverse palate.  I love food.  I love real food.

Again, on top of the science and the food, I also understand the importance of physical activity.  Matter of fact, my exercise habits likely protected me all summer prior to diagnosis.  Training has saved my life.  I've held onto a quote from an old friend of mine - Nick Rhoads.  When friends would ask what he was training for, his answer would be "The Apocalypse".  Without his knowledge I've adopted this response as well.  Never has it been more true.

My skill set continues... I am an independent thinker, highly intelligent and confident enough to stand up for myself.  I am a good listener and through my 'other' major in Psychology and the good fortune to have grown up with a mother who is a retired counselor, I've also learned to ask for help. I've found lots already.

While I don't feel incredibly comfortable boasting of these qualities - they are life saving abilities.  I highly recommend that everyone develop these skills.

I'm not entirely surprised by my diagnosis.  I have a solid grasp on the genetics that I was born into.  I have many closely related family members who also have diabetes.  And the links are very strong.  My nephew has developed the same disorder, LADA (I'm not a fan of the word 'disease' either).  In addition to the diabetes in the family, I also have heart disease - of which was a greater influence in me becoming as health conscious as I currently am.

So there's lots for me to talk about.  But in the interest of not writing a novel, I will begin to summarize.  (I haven't ruled out writing a book - some of my experiences make for good storytelling).  I'll end this with where I am right now.

I am doing great.  Seriously.  It's funny that I didn't ever really notice that I felt that bad.  Hell, I still made it through Ironman Wisconsin with this.   I had inclinations that something was wrong.  (I have extensive training notes that support this).

I have very tight control over my blood sugar.  Over the past 2 months my tests (over 500) average out to 105.

I am on extremely low doses of insulin.  This is not because I am only 'a little' diabetic.  I am able to do this partly due to my physical conditioning, but also due to my food choices.  I initially started out on about 20 total units of insulin per day.  Now I'm already down to 12-15U.

After laying off the training for 2 months, I am now back at it and still obtaining tight control.

I have already been fast tracked for an insulin pump which should provide me with even greater control.  That journey will begin within the next month.

My diet has been pulling the best of both vegan and paleo principles.  I am now a 'juicer'.  I love juices with Kale, beets, ginger, cucumber and apple.  Really, I love them.  Juicing has been a great tool for obtaining a huge amount of nutrition without the need to eat a dump truck sized salad.

I plan to post to this blog much more frequently.  I'll put in pictures and try to actually turn this into something entertaining.  I plan to discuss and share all that I have already learned.  While I am successful right now, it does not come easy.  There is a high deal of complexity to this.  If it hadn't been for others who have paved the way and shared their stories, I could not have made the progress that I already have.  It is a challenge, but I'm up for it.

Crisis is opportunity.

Stay-cation. Sort of.

I've been spending this week in FdL with my father.  He's suffering from Parkinson's Disease and has a lot of limitations.  Normally I wouldn't use the word suffering, but it is what it is.  He can barely feed himself, he can barely dress himself, can't get out of a chair when he wants to.  It's strange for the man that could fix anything and everything to be in this state.  I even feel bad confessing these things.  Maybe it goes back to the schoolyard "my dad is better than your dad" stuff.  Who knows, but it's hard on me.  (Like it isn't on him).  

I feel bad admitting that it's hard on me.  I can't imagine how hard it is for him.  But, and a big but, he has always been the most humble man I've ever known.  I can't recall a single time where he's been 'Proud' or bragged about anything.  Sure, he was successful, but damn if you'd know.  He has the gift of relating to people.  He worked sales and dealt with anyone for maintenance men to well, more or less anyone who he could find to talk to.  He has a gift for casual conversation - which was often frustrating if our family was in a hurry to get anywhere (especially on vacations).   

Now I know he must be frustrated.  He strains to move soup from bowl to mouth.  Drinking without a straw is impossible, putting on socks?  Shit, that's tough!  But I just walked into his room and he was busy making his bed.  Perfectly folded over sheet.  Comforter, well, I helped him with that.  Huge patience.   I'd like to think I'd have the grace to deal with it.  But I don't know that I do, or would.

So onto cheerier topics, look at this cool spider I found:

So I like to get away from things at times.  Running or riding (and sometimes I've been rumored to swim) provide chances for me to clear my mind of the troubles of the world.  I love to explore and just see random shit.  Here's some more... granted this is from a ride this spring in Monroe:

So today I went out for a nice mind clearing ride.  I love Autumn.  Sure it was cold, but a great change of pace from this summer's relentless heat.  I dressed like I was XC skiing.  Bib tights over my shorts, wool socks, full neoprene booties, and my favorite iP Amphib jacket, oh and my dryfit toque under my helmet (Canada eh!)

My ride headed in a similar direction of my last exploratory ride of FdL.  Of course I start up hill (that's where the best views are).  View of Lake Winnebago below:

So, it was a beautiful day.  Hella windy.  I might be the only person who likes wind.  It motivates me and I had time today to think about why... Tell me I can't do something - - - well, screw you I can.  That's how I think about wind.  People always think that wind is picking on them, they don't realize it's windy to everyone.  Wind happens (just like shit).  Deal with it.

So I rode into the wind.  There were also some hills.  Here's a photo of one:

What's better than a ride?  Crockpot soup after a cold one!  Been feeding my old man very well this week.  Nothing but the best for the man who made me who I am.

Much love.

My life - In rides.

Similar to those who create autobiographies of "my life in pictures"; I was thinking about some of the wonderful rides I have been on in my life - and how if I put them together, I would likely be able to tell an interesting history of my life.

I had a lot of time to think on my ride today.  I am currently taking a week off of work to spend time with my father in Fond du Lac.  My mother is currently traveling with my sister Kari to Park City, UT.  My mom doesn't get to travel very often anymore so it's a fun opportunity for her.  Although she's not on a complete vacation - Kari just had twins, so I'm sure there is some childcare work in there - but that's what Grandma's are for.

With that I find myself in Fond du Lac.  My parents have lived here (two different houses) for probably 10 years.  It never felt like home to me so I've never really taken any time getting to know the place.   But now that I have a week here I decided to bring a bike.

A little recent history here.  It's the triathlon off season for me.  I injured my left ankle early this year and my running had been very limited.  I've built myself a run training program which was intended to address this.  My goal was to hit the trails and build back into ultrarunner mode.  Well as soon I got all the details figured out, something stupid happened to me.  I sprained my ankle.  Again!  This time playing goalkeeper; which was a compromise in hopes of preventing such injuries.  Oh well.

Well it wasn't the same ankle and it isn't as bad this time.  I'm 3 days post injury and can walk around fairly well.  And I can comfortably ride my bike - depending on the shoes.  I have some commuter bike shoes that are stretchy and account for my sausage shaped foot quite nicely - these shoes are for my commuter bike (which is spd-platform).  So I decided to ride my commuter.

A little history on my commuter.  It's sweet.  It's an 80's Apollo Gran Tour.  Got it 2nd hand in Vancouver in like new condition.  It's a road bike, chromoly frame, downtube shifters, 6 spd freewheel.  I've added a classy looking pair of full wrap fenders, a rear grocery basket (which I'm hoping to replace with something custom made and nice)  Functional bike, but still something that I can work out on.

So that was my steed for the day.  Low tech, humble.  Felt like the good old days when I just got into riding.  There is definitely an exhilaration to heading into unknown territory alone.  Now to the route itself.

Headed east into a headwind.  Nothing too special, but the scenery was nice.  Fall colors are at peak.  Eventually I worked my way into the Kettle Moraine Forest towards the town of Glen Beulah.  I turned back to the west and found some amazing smooth roads, nice rolling hills, and a nice tailwind.  I reach a point where I was just relaxed and happy to be on a bike.  Passed through the town of Mt. Calvary.  That lead to later research in the difference between "calvary" and "cavalry" - totally different thing (thank you wikipedia).  Strange what can be learned as a result of a ride.

Other than random thoughts, there were no thoughts of training, no discomfort in my ankle, no worries about life.  Just me in the moment.  I wish others could find this state of mind - I can't really describe it - but I need it.

Shit Happens

A lot on my mind lately.

"Shit happens"   But I need to remind myself that there is an important nuance to this phrase.  Shit Happens is different than "This shit always happens to me?"   There is a level of acceptance with the the first one.  I'm thinking of this after catching a passing interview on NPR last weekend that was really well timed.  There was an interview discussing the perception of pain in subjects who were receiving a shock.  

Each patient received 3 shocks.  A three shocks were of the same intensity - but the people did not know that.  All they were told is that they were either receiving a shock 'from the wall' or 'from a person pressing a button'.  Interesting enough, those in the group who received that shock from the wall interpreted each successive shock as less painful. Classic habituation to the stimulus.

However, those who thought there was a person responsible for the shock they received rated each successive shock as MORE painful.  Same level of shock for all conditions.  I find this interesting.  My interpretation is that there is a level of feeling victimized which alters perception.  My conclusion.  In situations in which we are not in control, it is better to accept what is happening rather than feel victimized.  

With that in mind I through my hands up and accept that I am powerless. I cannot control everything in my life.  I must admit that this mentality has helped me lately. There are things that I can control, but I need to realize how limited that is.  I can control what I do, I can control who I see, I can control how I feel (most of the time). 

To anyone reading this (I know I have a limited audience), what I am alluding to is my control over the health of my parents.  My father has been struggling greatly with Parkinson's Disease.  Over the past month he has gone from functional to a level where he cannot care for himself.  It is incredibly difficult for me to observe.  He was and is the strongest person I know.  The man who knows how to fix anything, could talk to anyone, cares for everyone.  He's a humble man with a gigantic heart.  He is strong, he is funny, he is soft-spoken.  He is the man whose image I can only hope to honor.  He is my motivation to be a better person. 

And while my concern is certainly with him, I really need to care for my mother as well.  She is the one in the trenches.  She has been by his side for 50+ years.  She often gets overlooked and taken for granted like many mothers.  She has her own struggles with arthritis and diabetes.  But she too is strong.  So strong that we take it for granted.  In a family with outspoken daughters and soft-spoken sons, my mother has taken her share of grief from her children.

My mom is the hardest working person I know.  (I find it eerily Freudian that the only person I know with a work ethic near hers is my wife)  She worked multiple jobs, long hours.  She raised 5 children while she obtained her Masters degree in counseling.  She worked as an addictions counselor and family therapist.  But she never had just one job.  She'd work for Kohl so that she'd be able to get discounts on clothes to get us for Christmas,  she had side jobs with Avon and Pampered Chef.  She never asked for credit, she just plugged away.  She listened to everyone's problems all day, then came home to care for us.

Part of my ability to accept everything occurring now is knowledge of how truly blessed I have been to have such amazing parents.  I fully accept that I am a both a momma's boy and the apple of my dad's eye.  I've had a special relationship with both - and I'm not sure that is normal.  My parents had me later in life and were well broken in. They exposed me to tons of amazing experiences, where able to provide for me (spoil me rotten).  I never questioned that they had my best interests in mind.  To me they were always a hybrid of parents and grand-parents.

So what can I do to help them.  I'll do my best.  First off, I need to hold strong to the concept that I am not a victim here.  I am not able to help if I can't be strong for them.  It's my turn to give back - not because I owe them, but because they deserve help.

http://youtu.be/hhPzTKps0g0

I'm a bad blogger.  I didn't even write a post for Ironman Canada?  Bummer.  I guess I've been so busy and the event was memorable enough that I'm safely excused.

Update on the last year since I've posted.  Moved from Vancouver to Madison.  Gave up the hectic Sports Junkies bikes/skis/consignment gig for an opportunity of a lifetime to coach with SBR Coaching.

While retail was hectic, it hasn't been much easier to get in workouts.  I REALLY enjoy coaching.  So now, despite being surrounded by computrainers, treadmills, kettlebells, trx's, amazing bike roads and warm lakes, I have been fitting in fewer workouts.  How? Well, I really like my job.  I catch myself doing work rather than wanting to 'skip out' and get in workouts.

There is a theory that all the great Tour de France winners come from unhappy and/or abusive pasts.  These are the hardmen of the world with chips on there shoulders, something to prove every day.  Insecurity is a very powerful motivator. I've been there - but I'm not there now.  Right now I'm rather content with where I am as an athlete.  I feel like I've proven that I can do well over any distance.  I know I could do better, but I also know what I'd need to do to do better.

I have worked very hard in the past to earn the times that I have posted.  I've nailed nutrition, paced well and gotten the most out of my body for nearly every race I've done.  My biggest opportunity for improvement continues to be my running.  There won't be any magical breakthroughs this season there.  My running has been and will continue to improve steadily each year - if I'm patient.

My aggressive goal for the year was to improve my ironman run split to reach the 3:30-3:40 range.  I had the fitness for it last year at Penticton, but 95 degree heat  required that I moderate my pace.  I was set up to go for it this year, but a severe ankle sprain in February probably eliminated that chance.  If I were to have gone for it (3:30) this year, I would have needed to have hit the run training hard 6-9 months out.  With a sprained ankle which while finally pain free (it still swells post workout) I am realistically 4 months behind.  Reality is that this year's run goal is just to hold onto the form that I had from previous years.  Sort of a bummer, but there's no shame in a 4:20 ironman marathon.  Don't get me wrong that I'm calling it quits on trying to go faster, I'm just being honest with myself.

These sound like sandbagger excuses, but I know my body.  There are reasons why I will do well and reason's why I know I could do better.  Like I said, I really like my job.  Coaching and helping other's figure out to get faster makes me happy.  I've gladly shifted this season's focus from me, to the athletes I work with.  I am content with that shift in balance.  Triathletes are known to be a bit selfish with their time - it's almost required if you want to get the most out of your racing.  If your priority is on 'you' getting faster, one must realize that making 'you' your priority is requisite.

Pressure.  One of my greater concerns as a coach starting out is that I'm an unknown.  I haven't been in Madison for the past couple of years and while the tri-scene is very dynamic, many people simply don't know who I am.  If I were an athlete looking for a coach the difficulty with the decision is understandable.  Athletes want the best out of their performance, and they need coaches that can guide them there. But how do you choose a coach?  Most of it is word of mouth.  It's difficult to choose someone who you might not have heard of.  Now in the triathlon business how do you hear about people?  And I'm just being honest here, most people aren't looking in the yellow pages - they are looking at race results.[topic for future discussion, my thoughts on being fast as a requirement for being a good coach].

My placement in the results of a race should not be used as a quantifier for my skill as a coach. Coaching and training can pull in separate directions when it comes to time management.  But here is the thing, people who NEED coaching often don't understand the difference.  What I want anyone who sees my results to understand is that it represents the path that I have followed.   If anyone is going to judge me from my results, look at all of them.  If you look at them and notice how I have improved steadily every year.  I have finished every race I've entered [future discussion topic - hint: there is an appropriate time to call it quits].  I have not had mechanical or physical breakdowns - great, now I'm due.. knocking on wood.

I have not been fast from the beginning.  When I started I was slow and out-of-shape.  But I have progressed.  I know how painful it can be and challenging it is to 'race' at the back and middle of the pack.  It can hurt just as much as leading a race, but for longer.  I've gotten to where I am now because I like that 'hurt'.  That hurt is part of my passion for the sport.  The hurt is what makes it special.

On the topic of hurt.  This weekend is a great opportunity - and the reason for this rant.  Verona Triterium is tomorrow.  I'll be working to help set up the course today.  I know this course well, well enough to understand that I am not ready to take on the Olympic distance course.  I will be racing the Sprint.  I will save the Olympic for next year when I can have a better pre-season training geared specifically for it.

Tomorrow is my new debut.  I will be racing.  And while this is a low priority race as far as my season, I feel all the pressure to treat race day with respect.  It's been difficult to be surrounded by races every weekend and not be racing myself.  Here is my chance.  Judge me if you want - but I'm doing it for me.

6 weeks out.

Just returned from a restorative trip out to B.C. - Alberta border. We believe that the actual border is defined by the continental divide; so as one could expect there was some elevation. The Honda (ultra) Fit handled the trip with Kim's Daphne and my Betty upon the rear Saris rack. Camping in bear country so the dogs were at home with our apartment sitting friend Brittany.

The previous few weeks have seen a steady dose of volume. Last weekend was our course recon of Pentincton. My legs were ready for a slight decrease in intensity this week. Our trip was inspired to join up with our friend Sara and a few others; as they were traveling to the western mountains. Her friends were inexperienced bikers - providing a wonderful excuse to have to hold back on the ride we had planned.

On Friday we braved the sporadic mountain weather. Neglecting to factor in the base elevation at which our route began - I found myself a bit underdressed for the occasion. Going slow was nice and easy, but did little to warm my bare legs and hands in the wet 50 degree weather.

After a slow start featuring some highway riding to the steadily climbing "Icefields Parkway". (In retrospect - it should have been more obvious to pack warmer clothes). Nice easy spinning for the first 20k, up until the two slower friends turned around - eventually we picked up the pace in hopes of warming up. The increase in tempo left us with the realization that we must be at a decent elevation. After about 40k and a few spectacular views of the cloudy aquamarine glacier fed lakes, at a potty break for a hiking trailhead, I learned that our elevation was 1900 meters. That's a far bit over a mile high.

Eventually our elevation topped out at about 2100m. Kim's garmin data should be interesting. At 45km point, the road descended 400 meters at a 4-6% grade. On an out/back route planned - what went down, must go up to get home. Finally at 55km I was able to convince the group that instead of the arbitrary (Ironman) distance of 112 miles, we could instead do a metric conversion of the distance and turn around at 56km's instead. The heavy rain in the distance we were traveling supported by logic.

On the climb back up I stayed back with Sara to get her up her first official mountain climb. She managed quite well. A quick banana bread break at the top and then we were back to a mostly downhill return trip. Descending may be faster - but when your doing it for more than an hour with bare wet hands, it is cold. The sun peaked out for short moments just to tease us. Kim tried to take a few shifts out front to return the favor of the warm draft I had been providing her. To be fair, I didn't get much of a draft off of her, but I do see why the boys seem to enjoy the view so much. Yeah, that's my babe.

With 10 km to go and the Icefields Parkway about to end - we suddenly found ourselves next to a line of stopped traffic. A few ambulances ahead at a curve in the road. The road was blocked off by a police cruiser. 45 minutes of sitting in the rain while medivac came to rush what we guessed to be an injured female motorcyclist to the hospital in Calgary. Not exactly a scene I'd care to have front row seats to again. Eventually we returned to camp, stoked a fire, ate bratwurst, cookie dough and a couple of beers.

This morning we arose to sunnier weather. Our friends had left early to white-water raft. Kim and I enjoyed a leisure breakfast of camp-style bacon, eggs, and coffee from the perc. We checked out an hour late upon deciding to hike instead of run. We found a nice 5k climb where we gained a good 500 meters. Map estimation round-trip 3 hour hike, done in crocs in half the time. Rather cool hike, but we had to hurry to hit the road for 10 hours of driving. We made it home by 11pm - but I'm still awake when I should be in bed.

My goals need to be revisited to include more sleep.

Half-way there.

So here I am with tired legs, a full belly and an under-exercised dog. (Bella is staring me down and tossing a bouncy ball on my feet in hopes that I will stuff it with treats). She gives me a look of jealously and accusation - all weekend around bikes, runners and beeping garmins. But due to a rather standard NO DOGS on a race course policy - she has not been running all weekend. Double bummer, her people are too tired to run today.

In the meanwhile, my legs are up and my butt is planted. Kim and I have discussed our results from the weekend. I had a hard time and am more tired than usual. I also had to wake up early and work on my feet all day. I've always preferred Saturday races.

This weekend's race was the Victoria 1/2 Iron - technically the bike and run distances were shorter than the standard. No respect for 70.3 miles in the land of metres. What the course lacked in distance it make up for in terrain. I misinterpreted the words 'rolling hills' to mean 'no hills'. But I counted at least 3 hills on each of the two laps of the bike. Enough hills to negate my power advantage and tip the scales in favor of the higher watts/kg crowd. Besides hills the bike course featured ocean views, distant snow-capped mountains, islands, bald eagles and even a pair of 6 point deer - one of which can run approximately the same speed as I can bike and just about as high as I am tall on my bike (lucky me). Next year I will be adding an automotive deer whistle to Mr. Brownstone (my bike) - the stupid thing came within 6 feet of me traveling 40 kph. (25 mph).

Enough about the bike course itself, onto my race report.

I don't care for events that force bikes to be checked in the day before. Huge hassle. Just a scam to get people to visit the race sponsor tents. I was more in the mood to relax away from the stressed out people. Speaking of stressed out people - I was abandoned at the race site for a couple hours while Kim raced around trying to resolve a leak in her rear tubular race wheel. As a note, 25mL of a product called Doc Blue got her through the race.

Once the transition area stress was resolved it was off to eat and relax at Victoria's house with our friend Christine and fellow racer Kellen. Kellen possesses what I would consider a rather common trait among triathletes. He is neurotic - not over the top by any means, but he had a 40L tuperware container of triathlon specific goodies to lug around and still managed to need to visit a bike shop to get inner tubes for his bike (his logic was sound - it's much better to use long stemmed race tubes than short stemmed tubes with valve extenders). We all enjoyed a wonderful spaghetti dinner made by Victoria's mother and then unwound watching Hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy (a wonderfully metaphorical movie for any race weekend). I slept great despite being awakened a few times by Kellen and his wiggling upon his costco thermarest. (I think it's made of the same material as the new Sun Chip bags - if you don't get this reference check google). I was rather low stress about sleeping or not sleeping just so long as I wasn't comfortable and laying still. Yes Kellen, I could hear that clock ticking but my brain analyzed it to be a non-threat and allowed me to tune it out.

Race morning was sun shine and roses. I left my dad a message to wish him a happy father's day back home while we were driving to the race site. Weather was good. Cool (not cold) and overcast - perfect race weather for a man my size. I tend to overheat running in the heat. As I readied my transition area my phone range. Seeing as the front screen on my crap phone is busted I can ID the caller but answer assuming to hear my dad's voice - sadly it was about the furthest thing from what I wanted to hear. My sister called me and in worried tones to explain that my father had checked himself into a hospital due to not feeling well. A continuation of a 20 year battle with heart disease and now a few more confounding issues. He has since been released and news is positive. My entire focus for the day had changed. I took a walk away from the race, sat and looked at the lake and mountains. We have been through this issue often in my family - this is reality that I've been forced to accept since the 5th grade. I worked to clear my head and remain calm - my heart was with him the entire day (and remains there with him). I sat back, took in the atmosphere and used my fear and concern to be motivation. He'd want me to do well - some day I'll grow old and unable to do such things, I'll enjoy it while I can. Bad news is no reason to half-ass the task at hand. If anything, the race was a perfect thing to occupy my focus while I digested and put life into perspective.

Often when I swim I'm grateful for having learned while young. My form is not great and I'm above average at best, but the years of competitive swimming as a kid are all thanks to the man that drove me to the bulk of my practices. Swimming will always relax me and bring thoughts of my happy childhood. Our family has always enjoyed the water. Boats and L&R Sport Marine dominate my childhood memories. Swimming with a pack of 400 people into flat water is exhilarating. A rustle of action at the start, I didn't hear a countdown and still hadn't put my goggles on. I was positioned in about the 2 or 3 rows back and had to fight through white-water for the first 100 meters in order to find enough space. My goggles fogged so I blindly followed feet and bubbles for the next 300 yards until the race spaced out enough for me to rinse my lenses clear - no big deal. I latched onto a pair of feet the the next 1500 meters. Swimming isn't a huge priority over the longer distances. To get out of the water in 30 minutes was exactly where I'd hope to be the the training that I had done.

Transition went smoothly, I moved up from 44th to 33rd. I heard Andrew Powell's name called out next to mine while in transition. We met up briefly on the bike course. After I misjudged the sharp right-hander coming out of the park he passed me and remained 100 meters ahead for the remainder of the first loop. He looked steady (although I noticed a slight wag in his spine with each pedal stroke). There is more speed to gained by him if he can lock down his core a bit better - just my opinion. On the second loop I completely detached from the small group with Andrew. I was alone for long stretched of time with nothing but a clock (no speed devices) to remind me when to take in calories. I struggled with the climbs more than anticipated - a good reminder for me to do more high intensity work before Ironman Canada. I had to pee soooo bad during the second lap. Some people pee themselves (intentionally) while biking - I would have if I had the ability - I don't. Hard to bike fast on bumpy roads with an overfilled bladder. Other bike course notes - yes I almost hit a deer. I also had a lid fly off my exchange bottle and dumped it all over my bars - again no big deal, just note worthy at the time. I got cut off by a car in a round about. Driver got nervous and pulled over to the right, right in my way. That's when I lost contact with Andrew and never saw him again.

Came off the bike in 15th and left transition in 13th. I ran into the beautiful trails, found a private tree and peed for well over a minute. Worlds longest pee. Great White North worthy.

The run course was flat, shaded and consisted of two 10km loops around a lack. The path was mostly organic and soft - roots were well marked. Little ups and downs, but nothing to really slow my momentum. Very entertaining trail. Little zigs and zags, fun lines to choose. I passed a few families out to walk the trail or exercise their dog on father's day. Wished a few older gentlemen a good one. Lap one felt rather good, no pacing devices , just RPE (relative perceived exertion). A clock could only have told me bad news - I was running as fast as possible, knowing just how fast I am running doesn't necessarily help. I took a look at the overall race clock at the finish line after my first lap, it read 3:45. I briefly calculated that I ran about 45 minutes for my first lap, which was dead on my goal pace - in reality I ran a 47 (but don't forget that time wasted peeing). I had only been passed by two men. The second lap started well but I started to get beginnings of a side-stick which laid me up during last month's American Triple-T. I tried tighten my race belt around my waist in hopes of preventing it from getting worse. I couldn't get it very tight but I think it helped. Eventually at about 16km fatigue started to set into my legs - nothing overwhelming, just fatigue. On the penultimate aid station if made the poor decision of water over sports-drink and forgot to grab a gel. My brain was starting to get a bit foggy, focusing became more difficult, holding my form became more difficult. I was beginning to run out of calories. 15 minutes from the finish line I new I would be able to make there however I suffered more than I should have. On the final aid station I begged for gatorade and was handed a great cup with a gatorade emblem, but it again only contained water. Why didn't I grab a gel? I just needed some sugar to clear my mind and carry me home. Oh well - deal with it. I took a page out of my buddy Carl's book and started to count to 20 over and over again with each strike of my right foot. The racers behind me continued to close in as they usually do to me (not as many as races past). It's difficult to accept being passed and still keep focusing on moving faster. It's difficult to be on that racer's edge and have a positive mid-set. Passing people is much more fun. My head began to drift forward and my eyes focused more on the foreground than they had been before. No scenery for me during this bit of suffering. Suffering is a part of racing. Gut through it, get there and then it's all over. My second lap must have been faster than the first at about 45 minutes. Considering my recent 10k PR is 43:30, I'm rather happy with the result.

At the finish line the clock read 4:31 and in respect to my father, I patted my right hand across my heart at I crossed the line. The finish-line volunteers were quick to realize that I had pushed hard to the end - I believe 3 or more stood by on the ready to stabilize me for fear that I may topple. I felt fine physically, but my still racing heart combined with a much greater than usual emotional swing (which I credit to low blood-sugar) and a totally unexpected sound of a 70 year old man with a soothing voice, I started to break down. I'm never really lost control of my emotions in that way before, but I couldn't hold it together, not that day. I settled down, laid down in the lake and watched the rest of my friends finish.

It was good to relax for the rest of the afternoon. I heard an update from my family than my dad would be release that evening and that they were able to visit him. I wish I could have been there - because truly he has been there for me every time I've needed him. He always will be.