Six weeks to go. I am at the point now where my life revolves around the week’s key workouts; specifically the long run and the long ride. As they go, so goes my mood, my sleep, my productivity at work and my contributions to the chores around the house. If I nail a long workout, it isn’t unusual for me to sprightly head  home, cook dinner, wash dishes, watch a movie with Steph, stretch my legs, fall asleep immediately and dream happy dreams. If it doesn’t go well, I become a panic-stricken chimp that does nothing but bark obscenities while analyzing heart rate data and nutrition intake in a desperate attempt to figure out what went wrong. My engine runs on confidence and my confidence is fragile to say the least. For some reason, in my mind I am only as good as my last workout. If it goes badly, I feel certain that I will crack halfway through Ironman and walk my way to a 16 hour finish. Never mind the last 6 months which are packed with quality training days. Hopefully, if I do this again one day the experience gained from this will keep me a little more even keeled. For now though, I am pretty much mental.

The Bonk in the Burg

Tuesday’s long run was, dare I say it, easy. My running has definitely come around in the last several weeks, and that was the smoothest 20 miler I have ever done. I’m sure it didn’t hurt that a thunderstorm rolled through about an hour before I started. There was a slight drizzle and the temperature was about 75 instead of the normal 85-90 that had greeted me the last few Tuesday afternoons. The conditions were good and I was able to take advantage of it so I was very satisfied with the run.

Sunday however, was a different story. I headed up to Williamsburg to ride 112 by myself at my race heart rate followed by a 3 mile run. I was excited about this workout. It was going to be a hot day on a pretty hilly course so this could serve as a fairly realistic simulation of what the bike might be like in Louisville.

Everything started well at least. The first 56 mile loop was a breeze except for my near collision with a suicidal squirrel on a descent. I instinctively veered right trying to miss him and nearly parked myself in the woods at 30mph. Why do squirrels run out in front of you and then freeze? With world class scampering speed, tree-rats really shouldn’t have commitment issues. Just pick a direction and hammer buddy. More often than not, you are gonna make it.

On the second loop things began to come apart. It was hot and I was starting to figure out that three bottle cages don’t hold enough fluid for 56 miles in that heat at that pace. I really should have known this by now and planned for it, but for some reason I thought I would be fine. I slowly began to dehydrate, and by the time I got to the 85 mile mark I was really struggling. My focus began to shift from riding a solid 112 to finding a water source pronto before I turned into a raisin. There are parts of that loop that are pretty desolate; nothing but farms and run down houses for miles. I considered just walking up to a house and asking to use a faucet but most of those places are pretty sketchy. They kind of remind you of where Leatherface or Freddy Kreuger lived. I wasn’t that thirsty…… yet. I finally reached a little gas station and of course it’s closed on Sundays. I got off my bike and circled the building; not even a spigot. How is that possible? I keep riding, barely turning the pedals over. 100 miles and counting. Only 12 to go but in the state I was in, it might as well have been 50.

Finally, at the 107 mile mark I reach the KOA campground. I pull into the welcome center and I am relieved to see a spigot right out front. Just as I get off my bike, a lady walks out of the building and says, “Hey, you look like you could use some water.” Really! What gave me away, my clammy sweat-free skin or my sunstroke induced wino stagger? I nearly drank myself sick, and then I laid under the running water for what seemed like 30 minutes. I remounted and finally made it back to Waller Mill. Alright, time to run! Yeah right. I decided that sitting on the park bench for 20 minutes, sipping a coke and trying not to puke was a better idea.

Luckily, I had dropped Steph off at the Airport on the way to Williamsburg. She had arrived safely in Dallas for a business trip and would thankfully be spared from the relentless pouting about my second catastrophic crack in a month. It is so frustrating to have such an important workout go horribly wrong this close to the race. It’s just too late in the game to be making silly mistakes like that.

So, until a better workout rights the ship, I am planning on a 16 hour finish. Get my glow stick ready.