www.ajbaucco.com

After this next week, I will no longer be posting here.

Check out the new blog / website @ ajbaucco.com

Hope everyone likes the change!!!!

~AJ

Two Simple Words

This wasn't the triumphant return home that I was hoping for. Arm in a sling, swollen and scraped. With skin missing on both hands and road rash on my shoulders and back, my body is as battered as my ego. Vulnerability is the highest when a man has the most to lose. It’s hard not to laugh at my most recent setback. It’s almost like the Universe permitted momentary foresight into a life that I’ve been desperately been working towards, only to tear it from my fingers as quickly as I became accustom. Years ago, I found myself lying atop a dining room table in a small neighborhood on the west side of Cleveland. Wincing in pain, I allowed a girl with no experience, and a homemade gun, to tattoo the words “Sacrifice” and “Persevere” on my calves. Most would chalk that up to an adolescent mistake, but I eternalized that mistake and made those words the cornerstone of my mentality. Regardless of how my actions are perceived, I’ve always lived up to those two simple words.

This isn’t meant to be a lecture on overcoming obstacles. I’m not a motivational speaker, and I’m sure as hell not the best role model. This is about ideals that I hold deep in my heart. They are the reasons that I get up everyday, and they are what gets me through these darker days.  These ideals perpetually rest in the back of my mind; simple in nature, but incredibly motivating. They are promises that I made to myself when I first began to run. Ideals most likely conjured up while running single track around the Shaker Lakes on one of those hot summer days four years ago. They were promises that were made when running was new, back when my mind was forthcoming and unabashed. Naïve but far from delusional, my outlook on progression and sport was uncomplicated and straightforward. I thought about the Greats and the World Champions. Comparing myself to them, the only differences I accepted were time and experience. Denying any other difference enabled my progression as an athlete. It’s what allowed the development of those ideals; to continually work towards the dream, to never accept anything but the best, to find my limits and ignore them, to create my own destiny, to take advice from others but always disregard the naysayers, to give my life in pursuit of that great accomplishment, to patiently wait for that moment and then never forget it, to live my life like I have nothing to lose, to pick myself up off the ground, no matter how many times I fall.

Those two simple words, “Sacrifice” and “Persevere” recapitulate those ideals. A life worth living isn’t always about instant gratification. In this sport, that type of gratification doesn’t exist. There won’t be any half court shots at the buzzer or walk off homeruns. When someone wins an Ironman, it isn’t just the 8 or 9 hour struggle. It’s a lifetime of work culminating in one long day. In this sport, if you want it bad enough, if it burns deep in your soul, you can have it, and no one else can ever take that from you. 

Winning is fun

Three years ago, I crossed the finish line at a small race in Baltimore. It was a month before the Ironman 70.3 World Championships, and it was the second race I had won that summer. I remember doing an interview with a local newspaper. The reporter asked me if I was trying to turn professional. In my naïve little mind, I was already so close. It would take me three years to figure out how wrong I was.

For three long years, I waited… training highs and unforeseen lows. Injuries came and went. Every time I felt like I was close, I was still so far away.

Yesterday was an average day. I’ve been waiting to win a big age-group event for a long time. Even though it’s happened, I am still very critical. I didn’t race to my potential yesterday, and I am well aware of that. I did my best with the challenges that were presented, but I didn’t have that extraordinary day. I made a few goals for the race yesterday, and I accomplished almost all of them. My main goal was accomplished: to win an overall age-group title, but I wanted to do it with my run. I feel as if I ran about 4 minutes off my potential yesterday and that makes this victory bitter sweet. Andy Potts, a super star of the sport, won the pro race yesterday. I am sure he didn’t have a perfect race. It is how he changes and evolves that will make him win again. I believe that it is important to be proud of this accomplishment, but never be completely satisfied. There is always room for improvement in this sport.

I felt as comfortable coming into this race as possible. I didn’t feel any pressure to perform because I truly believed that I was the fastest person in the race. In my mind, it was my race to lose. The swim was a bit hectic as usual. I was the 12^th wave to go off, so I had about 1000 age-groupers to swim through. I don’t mind people that race to complete a half Ironman. In fact, I think it is what makes this sport so special. I just wish these people would train hard enough to have the ability to actually swim freestyle for 1.2 miles. I had to maneuver through a sea of people doing breast stroke and elementary back stroke. Without doubt, it made the swim leg much slower. This race is notorious for having a long swim, so I wasn’t shocked to see 28:30 on my watch as I came out of Bay Lake.

The first 5 miles of the bike were some of the most dangerous racing I’ve ever experienced. People were going 15mph while weaving around the entire lane. Wet roads made for even sketchier riding. It was seemingly impossible to get around the cluster of age-groupers for the first 5 miles. I tried my best to get moving, but the first 5 miles felt more like soft pedaling around town. Once out on open roads, I was able to get moving. I received my first time check at mile 10. I knew that if I road 12 minutes for each 5 miles I would be at 25mph average for the race. My plan was to rid a bit slower than that. The more I tried to relax and slow down, the faster I rode. I felt like my heart rate was around 130 for most of ride. I am sure it was higher, but it felt really effortless. Around 50 miles in, I was afraid that I was going to ride under 2:10. I knew if I did, my coach was going to literally kill me. As it turns out, I was just riding under pace because of a nice tailwind. The headwind in the last 6 miles slowed me down and I ended up riding around 2:13. I felt like it was a very conservative ride, but I suppose this is debatable.

Once out on the run course, I quickly fell into a rhythm. I felt confident as my pace hovered around 5:55 – 6:05 for the first 2 miles. That quickly changed when the road ended, and we ran onto the cross country section, a 1.5 mile grass trail that had to be run three times total. That section proved to be very difficult. I grass was not groomed, the air was thick and sticky, and there was no shade. My first time through that section was hard enough. I tried not to think about running through it twice more. Once back on the road, my pace dropped back down. Unfortunately, it wasn’t anywhere near my goal pace. I was working as hard as possible but only seeing 6:10-6:15 pace on the pavement. As the weather got hotter, I got slower. The high humidity had everyone fighting for their run splits. After the second loop, at around mile 9, I knew I had a strong lead on the rest of my age group. I tried to fight any urge to “settle in” or slow down. I knew I was racing for the overall title, and winning my age group was just the first step. About 2 miles out from the finish, I knew it was time to dig deep. I didn’t want a repeat of those last 2 miles in New Orleans. My body was incredibly overheated and very near melt down, but my mind was already fantasizing about pouring ice cold water over my head at the finish. That thought was all I needed to really push for the finish.

I ended up crossing the line in just over 4:11. I was 13^th overall (including the pros) and won the overall age group title. Having a less than ideal race and still winning by over two minutes, makes me really believe that I am one of the better age groupers around. It also makes me believe that I am truly ready for the jump to professional racing. I know it’ll be a totally different race, but I feel like I need the challenge so I can keep improving. I haven’t even turned 25 yet, and I really feel like I am a LONG way away from my potential in the sport. Only time will tell…

As for now, I am headed back to Houston to train for two more weeks before I race the Capital of Texas Triathlon, an Olympic Distance. Two weeks ago, I set a goal to be top age grouper at both the Florida 70.3 and the Capital of Texas Triathlon. I am delighted to say that I am one step away from a clean sweep.

Winning is fun. I think I am going to do more of it.

Cheers.

Back on the Road

The last few days have passed like weeks. The hot and humid duplex at Vacation Village in Clermont, a scarcely populated vacation rental community (read: trailer park for old people), 45 minutes outside of Orlando has become my new home for 8 days. Short course professional, Ethan Brown MD (also known by his twitter alias, EzeBreezy) has been kind enough to open up his training pad for yours truly during this taper week. Ironman Florida 70.3 is this Sunday, and I am looking to correct some of my major errors from New Orleans.

Sweating my ass off in the 90deg Duplex... trying to cool down with cold towels

After the race in New Orleans, I packed up my condo and immediately hit the road for Las Cruces, New Mexico. Even though we had already spent a couple weeks training here in January, this training camp was much different. The weather was warm and dry, the pool was 50 meters and college girls took over the tanning area. The orchards had bloomed and the riding was much more scenic. But most importantly, we worked our asses off for a few weeks with zero excuses. We nailed the sessions and left New Mexico much fitter than when we arrived.

With the squad girls before leaving Las Cruces

Last Wednesday, I made the 12 hour drive to Houston where I will be living for the majority of May. I’ve taken over the spare room at DJ Snyder’s house. I’ll get to do the majority of my training on the Ironman Texas course, and I will get the opportunity to watch DJ, along with Pedro “Krepster” Gomes, race IM TX on the 22^nd. Towards the end of the month, I’ll be heading over to Austin to race the Capital of Texas Triathlon on Memorial Day.

The idea of all this travel already has my head spinning, but it should work out well. I will get to have two major races in two weeks. And, I get to see many friends in the process. Once June rolls around, I’ll be settling down for 4 hard weeks of training in St. George, Utah with the rest of the squad.

I’m really looking forward to this Sunday in Orlando. I know that I am ready to put together a solid performance. I’ve done the work… now, it is time to execute. 

The Big not so Easy

The season has officially started…

I was lucky enough to fall asleep before taking off and actually wake up back on the ground. The last 48 hours have been a bit tiresome, and I am looking forward to some regularity. I’m landing in Tucson in a couple hours and I’ll have less than 10 hours before I need to be back at the airport. However, this time I’ll be dropping off Kulbis. It has been a long but amazing training winter in Tucson. I know he is sad to go back home, but a few weeks of steady training will bring his winter fitness to light, and he’ll be winning all the local races in no time. After a quick trip home to pack the rest of my belongings, I’ll make the 4 hour drive to Las Cruces. At this point, I can barely fill a car with what I own. Kulbis sold the rest of our knick-knacks over the weekend, so I’ll literally be leaving with my clothes, a couple bikes, or more pairs of shoes than I’d like to admit to owning. I’ll be settling in Las Cruces for a few weeks before I road trip to Houston where I’ll be reuniting with good friend, DJ Snyder. There, I’ll also be meeting up with Portuguese rockstar/triathlete, Pedro Gomes. It’ll be a great environment as long as Pedro doesn’t force me to eat Dairy Queen twice a day. I need to lean down a bit now that the racing has started, and I can’t be sandwiching a DQ run between Chipotle visits anymore. Once back in Cruces, I’ll have a chance to really pick apart my race in New Orleans. I definitely have mixed feelings about the race, and I can’t say that I am very satisfied.

As many people have heard, the swim leg was cancelled due to a little chop, and the race was turned into a bike-run. Even though swimming is not a great strength of mine, I’ve spent the last 4 months swimming 30km a week, and I believe I’ve pushed my 1.2 mile split (with a wetsuit) down to around 25min. Mildly annoyed that the swim was cancelled, I tried to re-center myself and think about the new race. Everyone had to deal with the same situation and it was up to me to adapt. Regardless, starting an hour later and the new time trial start made it difficult to truly warm up. Starting a bit “cold” had me working a bit too hard from the gun. I was overeager and too aggressive in the opening miles. I believe riding through the first 5 miles in 11 minutes illustrates this perfectly. Regardless, after the shock of the first few miles, I felt as if I settled in nicely. I rode hard the entire 56 miles, but I never felt as if I was out of my comfort zone. I just locked in and rode the miles. My biggest task was making sure that other age groupers didn’t get in my way and cause me to crash. Instead of getting mixed in with those people, I spent the whole bike leg riding near the center line. A nice tail wind on the way home put the exclamation point on a solid ride. However, it may have been a bit too “solid.” I rode 2:11:18, which is 25.6mph. My split was faster than some of the pros and about 90sec off the average pro bike split. I may have overexerted myself, but at the time, I felt like I was riding exactly where I needed to be. Onto the run course, I felt pretty strong as I came through the first mile in just under 6:00. Unfortunately, I quickly found myself settling for 6:15s. The first 6 miles were certainly the worst miles for me. I had a bad stomach ache, and it was starting to affect my ability to run anywhere faster than 6:30s. At the halfway point, I finally caved and took care of that issue. That mile was 7:45, so I figured that I lost about 60-75 sec in the bathroom. That is part of racing though. After my setback, I found myself back in a rhythm. After a 6:20 7^th mile, I was back down to just over 6:00 pace. At mile 9, I was passed by the one and only person to do so all day. It only took a few seconds to realize that he was the person I needed to be running with. I dropped the pace and started to come back to him. We ran the 9^th mile in 5:45 into a light, but noticeable headwind. In the moment, it felt like the right move, but it was too fast and had me absolutely popped. Looking back now, I probably should have continued building slowly and finish the last few miles around 6:00-6:15, but I took a chance. After a mini melt down, I ran a super slow 6:40 11^th and 6:45 12^th mile. I was never ever able to come back from that harder 9^th mile. I ended up running 1:25 half marathon (6:30 pace). I consider this very slow and need to make some changes in order for this to not happen again. Overall, I finished 6^th in the amateur race, and 29^th overall (including 35-40 pros). I was about 80 seconds out of 3^rd place and a little over 3 minutes out of 1^st. I am definitely not happy about this result, because I came to win. However, I have a few areas where I need to improve and I am eager to get back to the drawing board. Although I kept this mostly to myself during the last few months, I had an injury that kept me from running for 3 weeks. It took another 3 weeks to get back to a normal stride. With this setback, I know I still have a lot of fitness to gain in the next couple of months. Training Camp with the Triathlon Squad has already started in Las Cruces, and I am looking forward to joining them. I need a few solid weeks with Coach Paulo Sousa and the crew. Training solo in Tucson was starting getting old and I am more than excited to see my squad mates. It will definitely be a busy few weeks in Cruces. On a side note, New Orleans never ceases to shock me. I saw things on Bourbon St. that will haunt me for long time. It is amazing what people can get away with down there.

A Consistent Winner

Winning... No, I'm not referring to Charlie Sheen or any of his nonsensical garbage. I'll let a quote from Bill Rodgers say it all.


To be a consistent winner means preparing not just one day, one month or even one year - but for a lifetime.

Most mornings around here are the same. Waiting for our coffee to brew, we sit and chat about the days work. Everyday has a set of challenges that have to be met. There aren’t any options here. There are no “maybe I’ll move that swim until tomorrow” moments. I have a job that doesn’t cater to sick days or vacations. Looking back through pages and pages of logs, I searched for an off day. Even though I’ve made it out of the snowy Midwest, this winter still brought its fair share of adversity. Page after page, I flipped… back until January 1^st. But that empty space in my training log ceased to exist. I’ve trained through sickness, injury, and infection… through rain, wind, and freezing temps… through mental breakdowns and logistical nightmares. And after it all, I’ve only realized that this isn’t anything but what is expected. This is what it means to “get work done.” It has been four months… talk to me in four years. There are no “congratulations” or “pats on the back.” I haven’t done anything but my job. Yesterday, I was an hour into my last long ride before the New Orleans 70.3. Temperatures were around 45deg and it was pouring rain. After losing feeling in my hands, we decided to stop at the Supermarket to pick up some latex gloves. While standing outside, I ran into a girl that I used to tutor with up in the Foothills. We exchanged some small talk and she started to notice the effects that the cold had on me. At this point, standing around in wet cycling gear had given me a bit of the shakes. Pausing for a second, I realized that she was finally going to say something about how crazy we were for training in this kind of weather. While opening her umbrella and stepping out into the cold, she said “Man, you look cold. Sucks you have to train in this weather. But that’s your job, right? You don’t really have a choice.” Alas. She understood it perfectly. It wasn’t crazy or brave or heroic to be riding in the freezing rain. It was our job.

I am exactly one week away from racing my first half of the season in New Orleans. I have one specific goal in mind and it has nothing to do with a time. It isn’t even specific to a placing. My goal… No. My job is to swim hard, ride hard, and then run the life out of myself. I’ll put it all on the line, and I’ll work just as hard for 1^st place or for 50^th place. My body doesn’t know what place it is racing for. It just knows that it needs to work. Otherwise, when I do start racing for the win, my body won’t know how to handle it.

Check out Ironman.com next Sunday, April 17^th to track my race.

Cheers. 

Recovery Loop in Premanon, France

This is a great video shot by Jacob Christiansen in Premanon, France (October 2010). This loop was known as "the recovery loop." It doesn't take long to realize that we were training in a cyclists paradise. Enjoy guys!

Tucson Training Camp

For those of you people looking for me in the video...

I am the idiot attacking on the bike, doing a cannon ball in the pool, and swimming a horrible version of fly towards the end.

ENJOY!!!

A Day Off?!?

I don’t want to lie. Even though we have the entire afternoon off from training, there is never really a full day off. It is already early March and I have taken 0 days off from training. It is also important to point out that today is the FIRST time during a training camp that we have done just one workout in a day.

We started our “day off” with a short 5500 yard swim including 3 x (5 x 100 on 1:25 descending 1-5) and finished the workout with 2 x Chorizo Burritos from The B-Line and 3 x Cups of Coffee; a perfect way to finish any set.

2011 has already been the year of BIG changes. The biggest change has been leaving the guidance of Northeast Ohio legend, Jim LaMastra. It was a difficult choice to make, but Jim and I both thought that it was time I moved on and pursued other opportunities. During the transition between triathlon seasons, I started training under the guidance of world class triathlon coach, Paulo Sousa. Paulo has created the first ever elite training squad in North America. There are plenty of other triathlon teams, but we are the first team to spend the majority of the year living and training with each other and our coach. The basic change in training from 2010 to 2011 is volume. Previously, I was under the impression that two workouts a day was the standard. This year, I’ve quickly learned that 3 workouts a day (roughly 20 workouts a week) is, in fact, the standard. So what type of training volume does that entail? We swim 30,000 – 32,000 yards (17 – 18 miles), cycle 300 miles, and run 50-60 miles. This sounds like a lot of training, and I am going to ensure you, it is. So what am I going to do with this blessed day off?!?

Sit on the couch, update my blog… and eat.

For anyone who is interested on keeping tabs on me, my schedule is as follows. And please, only stalk me if you are an attractive female… or a potential sponsor than wants to give me money ;)

Present time – April 9^th in Tucson, Arizona (Training Camp #2)

April 9^th – April 15^th in Las Cruces, New Mexico (Training Camp #3)

April 15^th – April 18^th in New Orleans, Louisiana (Ochsner Ironman 70.3 New Orleans)

April 19^th – May 8^th in Las Cruces, New Mexico (Training Camp #3)

May 9^th – June 5^th in Houston, Texas (Racing TBA)

June 6^th – July 3^rd in St. George, Utah (Training Camp #4)

July 4^th – July 8^th in Cleveland, Ohio (To Celebrate America!!!)

July 9^th – July 12^th in Providence, Rhode Island (Amica Ironman 70.3 Rhode Island)

July 13^th – August 7^th in Cleveland, Ohio (Racing TBA)

August 8^th – September 4^th in Mammoth Lakes, California or TBA (Training Camp #5)

***This is all subject to change at any second***

Here are some pictures from the last few weeks of training in Tucson, Arizona. Enjoy!!!

Cruising out on McCain Loop with Yoder.

Out for 2 hours after a solid swim session. Heading towards Gates Pass. 

Bike Skills and Transition Clinic with the Squad. We only got yelled at twice by Mall security.

Training at Hillenbrand Aquatic Center in Tucson, AZ

Excited to get in and start some quality training

What would we do without Krepster's (aka Pedro Gomes) underwarer camera

I assure you, we trained hard before this. I think we did 7 x 400 as the main set.

Ummmmm... Me being freaking awesome before a swim workout.

Jersey Shore has T-Shirt Time. We have Hot Tub Time. This is some of the crew after a swim.

Our view of the man in black... Johnny Cash. Er, I mean Paulo Sousa. He's like Cash minus all the style and musical ability.

Me pulling a few people down Kinney Road on the other side of Gates Pass.

I.T.W.N.P

The optimistic yet straightforward tone in the room was convincing. We all stirred in our chairs easily portraying the sixty hour training block that now lived deep within our muscles. Our brain, world class triathlon coach, Paulo Sousa, stood towards the front of the New Mexico classroom. We reflected on the two weeks of training that was in the midst of completion. Gracious “pats on the back” were forfeited for a hard-nosed lecture on accountability. Races wouldn’t be won and careers wouldn’t be made on a successful two week training block. Regardless of effort, these two weeks were trite; far from extraordinary. Success comes neither from days, nor weeks, nor months… but years of dedication. Listening intently, we all understood that notion. Just as quickly as we accepted this concept, the tone shifted. In true Klep fashion, Pedro Gomes, an accomplished Portuguese triathlete, strolled to the front of the classroom and took over the meeting. Intrigued and sitting at the edge of our seats, we watched as Klep asked for chalk and started writing the acronym, I.T.W.N.P. Fittingly, acronyms are commonplace within The Triathlon Squad. Phrases like G.T.W.D. (Get The Work Done) and D.Y.J. (Do Your Job) and have seen the surface of the workout white board many times. Today, we sat in anticipation as Klep turned and faced the room.

In broken English, he proclaimed, “I tink. We need… PAINTBALL!” The tone of the meeting was immediately changed as the room broke into laughter. Klep, notorious for lightening the mood of any training session, spun off into a story about his hesitance to leave his Portuguese training center in search of another elite training squad. Although the speech was slightly mushy, we all shared in his general feeling of total approval. His newly crowned acronym may have been a joke, but it pointed towards the idea of building an even stronger unity between the squad members. At that point, it was easy to see that although the training squad was filled with a hodgepodge of individuals, we all meshed in our quest for excellence. 

The City of the Crosses

It’s already been eight days since my arrival in Las Cruces, New Mexico. This is the first of many training camps for coach Paulo Sousa’s Training Squad. It may be early in the season, but like many athletes, we have started getting into shape early. Without going into too much detail, here is a glimpse into our first week of training.

Swim – We are lucky enough to get some pool time (I mean A LOT of pool time) at the New Mexico State University pool. I believe we totaled around 31,000 – 32,000 yards this first week. That is roughly 18 miles in the water. Most of the workouts have been between 5k and 6k with one longer swim set over 6k. Some of the most notable sets, for me at least, were 12 x 200 hard, 30 x 100 (every 3^rd hard) on 1:25, and 8 x 100 best average.

Bike – Since IM Cozumel, my bike mileage has been pretty low. This has been the first week back to some longer intervals and longer days in the saddle. This first week has brought just under 15 hours of ride time. Besides the more traditional 3-4 “long” rides, we have been doing a fair amount of threshold and V02 max intervals. Some of the key workouts this week have been 4 x 10min @ threshold, 5 x 4min uphill @ V02 Max. Last season during my peak training, my threshold was just over 300w, allowing me to push 4.3 watts per kilogram. Right now, I am pushing around 280w at a slightly lower weight, allowing me to push about 4.1 watts per kilogram. Although this number is slightly lower, it is very acceptable my first week back to solid bike training.

Run – This has been my priority ever since breaking my heel back in April of 2010. After 2 years of disappointing run training, I am very eager to make this discipline my strength again. My running this season has been VERY steady and I am starting to feel fit again. I have officially run 42 times in 42 days. Since arriving in New Mexico eight days ago, we have run around 70 miles with 99% percent of running on soft dirt trails. The key to our run training this week has been a few 90min progression runs where the last 5 to 6 miles are done slightly faster than marathon pace. For this time of year, that pace has been between 5:50 – 6:10 per mile. Another good session this week was 20 x 30sec hill repeats. 30 seconds doesn’t seem long but the last 5 repeats left us all pretty broken.

Overall, this first 30 hour training week has been very challenging but will eventually be rewarding. The whole crew has worked together very well, and I can honestly say that everyone here is working incredibly hard. I can’t wait to see some of the results that this squad will produce by the end of the year.

For those who aren’t familiar with the training squad check out http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Triathlon-Squad/183206021698840

Here is a list of athletes -

AJ Baucco, 24, Tucson AZ
Amanda Felder, 28, Cupertino CA
Andrew Yoder, 21, Lancaster PA
Chris Coble, 28, Fremont CA
Greg Billington, 21, Winston Salem NC
Heather Wurtele, 31, Kelowna BC
Ian Mikelson, 30, Torrance CA
Janelle Morrison, 33, Penticton BC
Jennifer Spieldenner, 24, Findlay Ohio
Kate Ross, 20, Doylestown PA
Pedro Gomes, 28, Lisbon Portugal
Kelsey Withrow, 28, Park City UT
Trevor Wurtele, 31, Kelowna BC

The Power of Music

My glare could burn a hole through the wall. My eyes were fixed intently on the three inch dent in the wall. My legs turned over in a fluid yet effortless motion while the sweat began to glisten off my bare back. An abrupt loss of concentration forced my eyes deep into the blank television set sitting across the dimly lit basement. The dark shadow of a man running played across the vacant television. It seemed as if I was watching my own life unfold, however; I couldn’t seem to fight the feeling that I had seen this program before. As the music faded in, a penetrating shot of adrenaline made my fingers tingle. I closed my eyes for a moment and allowed the music to take me back through time.

With the moonlight guiding every movement, pure exhilaration carried me through the empty streets. Every motion was without effort and I had worked damn hard to make it that way. Trying to remove my mind from any thought about the task ahead, I took refuge in the music that seemed to penetrate deep into my mind. With a false feeling of immortality, I increased my cadence. An attempt to allow my body to feel fatigue was a seemingly impossible task that morning. I moved with the music; a harmonious movement that couldn’t be broken until the sound died away.

In total agreement, my consciousness faded in as the track faded away. The work gradually became a little more labored, and I quickly forgot about my mind’s momentary sanctuary. The clock clicked away as the miles absorbed into my already hardened legs. Again, I waited patiently for my mind to escape. The miles pass faster when the mind works absently. I silently prayed for the next track to take me away.   

Tell Me What You Know About Dreaming

Another sun sets over the Tucson Mountain Park. The cloudless Arizona sky almost instantly turns to a deep ruby red. Like most evenings, my mind begins to wander.

Although every moment in my passing life is new and fresh, I am overcome with a strange sense of familiarity. For some, racing over 140 miles is it, the end-all, be-all, the pinnacle of their existence. I wish I could relate. Memories of the day have faded quicker than the deep ache in my battered body. The howling wind has calmed and that intoxicating sun has set. When a person goes through a traumatic experience, those most upsetting moments are the first to be forgotten. I remember the pain. I remember telling myself that after today, it was alright if I never ran again. But those memories have lost clarity. They’ve been pushed deep into the part of my brain that allows me to forget. It’s that most crucial facet of my character that allows me to dream tonight.

My dreams are consistent, yet strong willed. Looking back upon that day in Cozumel, some may express admiration; others, dissatisfaction. Regardless, that day happened like any other. It was and still is merely an extension of that dream. A day that can never be replaced, will never be forgotten, but is completed incapable of satisfying that dream. Going fast in Cozumel was never my dream. Finishing time is irrelevant. My dream burns as deep as it ever has. Like every year, time has shaped and changed my life’s aspirations. But the beauty of a dream is its ability to change overtime while remaining true to its original form. As long as I keep chasing, the ending to my story will always be right.

Another Summer Adventure in the South of France

The tips of my fingers turned to a ghostly white. The voice in my head was convinced that my death grip was my only saving grace. My shoulders started to fatigue, but I clenched even tighter. I asked myself, “Was this going to be another one of those bad decisions?” My body language portrayed my distrust. I was told to relax, but I couldn’t. Why was I so afraid? A day ago, I had bombed down this exact mountain, dodging each pot hole and crack with my skinny bicycle tires. Maybe it was the inevitable darkness of a mountain town at night? Maybe it was that my life was in someone else’s hands? Regardless, I hung onto the back of the motorbike as we ripped down the mountain…

The sun seemed to rise early that morning. I rolled out of bed with the weird sensation that I had wasted the whole day sleeping. It was only 10:00am… The coastal wind near the Spanish border was fierce today. The road sign read 40km to Collioure. The chosen route was incredibly hilly, but the views of the Mediterranean were absolutely breath taking. Knowing that I only had to ride an extra 20km to Matt’s house in the mountains, I decided that I would turn today’s short ride into a seemingly innocent game called King of the Mountain. The road steeply climbed out of each coastal town. My heart was working overtime as I eagerly pushed my 60 pound machine up the road. The wind was strong enough to push me to a dead stop on some of the steeper pitches. I craved the reprieve of each descent. After climbing and descending through half a dozen Mediterranean towns, I unenthusiastically began the steady climb into the Pyrenees.

Six days had passed since I found myself glaring over all of Perpignan and the seemingly infinite Mediterranean Sea. Matt, my previous host in Perpignan, was kind enough to offer me a place to crash for another night. This time around, it didn’t feel like I was couch surfing. Matt and I got along pretty well, and I felt like I was visiting an old friend.  That afternoon, I finally found a host in Beziers, a very small town between Perpignan and Montpellier. My original plan was to pass through Beziers; however, I was told that Saturday night was La Feria, their biggest street party of the year. Knowing that I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to experience La Feria, I made plans to leave Perpignan the next afternoon and make the 95 mile trip to Beziers.

It was Friday night in Perpignan and Matt didn’t want to spend it hanging around in the Pyrenees. We decided to make the trip into Argeles, a small beach town 20km down the mountain. Our main objective was fraternizing with the local gals. Matt suggested that we hop on his 100cc scooter. Knowing nothing about motorized bikes, I figured it was a fine idea. I didn’t regret this decision until he hit the throttle and we started flying down the mountain.

Having never been on a scooter, I was completely unable to relax and trust Matt. I was so shit scared that I thought I was going to crap my pants. Every time he hit the throttle, I felt as if I was going to tumble off the back of the bike. My nerves sent my heart rate flying as we came off the mountain and onto the 10km flat section between Sorede and Argeles. He punched it as we ripped through the dark, narrow roads. I held onto to back of the bike like I was fighting for my life. The headlight seemed to produce as many lumens as my trail running head lamp. It was almost like the moon was guiding us through the countryside. I continued to pray that this decision was not my last.

After surviving the commute to Argeles, I seriously considered an alternative way back. Matt laughed. “You just need to relax, loosen your grip, and trust the bike. Shit, I’ll let you drive it home if you want.” I thought about it, but quickly dismissed it as a bad idea. Matt continued, “Listen, we’ll get a few drinks, loosen you up a bit, and then we’ll cruise home.” Now I laughed. “Yeah Matt, that sounds like a great idea.” He sensed my sarcasm.

Sarcasm or not, drinking a little gin was indeed a pretty good idea. Deep down, I knew I was acting a little reckless. But for some reason, I allowed myself to get back on the scooter. **Sorry Mom, maybe you shouldn’t be reading this post** With an artificially created sense of trust, I relaxed my grip as Matt hit the throttle…

To my surprise, I didn’t go flying off the back of the bike. As each kilometer passed, I became increasingly more comfortable. This time around, that long and fast straightaway between Argeles and Sorede was absolutely magnificent. My fear of the dark had diminished as I basked in the beauty of the moonlit mountain side. Our return home was unlike anything I had ever experienced. A profound feeling a freedom came over me as we tore back into the mountains.

 Figuring that the 95 mile trip to Beziers couldn’t take more than 6 hours, I slept through the morning. When you are traveling by bike, you really never know when you will come across a nice place to stay. I was thankful for a bed, my own bathroom, and a seriously bad ass infinity pool that overlooked Perpignan from up in the Pyrenees. Matt’s place wasn’t just a nice place to crash, it was more like as oasis in the desert. Convinced that a late morning trail run was in order, Matt and I cruised onto the mountain trail. He had been telling me stories about this waterfall deep in the mountain. Known for its rock cliffs, this secret spot was a natural 12 meter platform for local dare devils. Not completely sure if I wanted to test my luck on the natural diving tower, we headed into the thick forest. The trail disappeared after a mile. Creating our own path, our running slowed into a hike. We dlimbed over boulders, jumped over creeks, and pushed our way through thick brush. Matt barely remembered the route. The whole way he joked about the time he got lost back here and didn’t make it out until night fall. I didn’t find it too funny.

I could hear the waterfall in the distance… we were close. The tiny rock pool was barely large enough to consider jumping into. I couldn’t believe that people heaved themselves into it from the top of the 36 foot waterfall. Matt showed me a smaller, alternative rock platform, and I started to consider my jump. In order to climb to the side of the waterfall, I’d have to wade through the rock pool first. I started to slide off my shoes. As I was about to slip into the dark waters, Matt urged me to quickly swim to the other side. Red flag… “Why the hell would I need to hurry to the other side?” Matt pointed into the muddy waters. Moving closer, I peered deep into the rock pool. “Is that what I think it is?!?” Looking closely, it was hard to miss the giant mass sliding through the water. A shiver ran through my spine. Snakes… my kryptonite…

Feeling a little let down, we hiked our way back towards civilization. Even though I was feeling pretty adventurous, I wasn’t about to mess with a murky pool filled with snakes. Not to mention the 6 meter jump into such a pool. Thinking back, I pretty sure I made the right decision. With the time already nearing noon, my serious commute to Beziers was looming ahead of me. My young and enthusiastic host, Lucile, wasn’t expecting me until 8:00pm. Before I made the trip, I was told to be ready and willing to party all night. Praying for a tailwind, I started my descent down the mountain. An all night street party was my reward for a long day it the saddle. As the sun bore down, I pedaled my heavy touring machine towards the sea. The miles were flying by…

With a slight change of direction, I was stopped dead in my tracks. The headwind almost pushed me backwards. Cruising at an average speed of 8mph, I started to realize that this would be the longest day of my life…

As The Elevator Door Opens...

The frigid mountain air hits you hard enough to make your hair stand. The gloomy feeling of dawn has yet to give way to a cool fall morning. Within a few seconds of landing on the first floor, you can hear a roar of laughter coming from the cafeteria. Its a few minutes past 7:00am, but almost everyone has shaken off the domineering effects of a shitty nights sleep. The world they live in is foreign; absent of any of the comforts they once knew. Everything is the same, except still so different. A strange bellow radiates from the next room. You ask yourself “What could be so amusing to these guys this early in the morning?”

Penetrating the dimly lit hallway is the inviting glow of the cafeteria; although, the frigid breeze radiating from a slightly cracked window is enough to make you wish you were back in the warm comforts of your bed. A zombie-like figure, with his head sinking low, brushes past you en route to a caffeinated oasis. It’s just another tolerable addiction in the life of acceptable addicts. 

Each person in that crowded cafeteria is largely dissimilar; however, existing in each person is this innate ability to confide in their athletic counterparts. The room is overflowing with newborn friendships, disproving any notion that men of diverse cultures are inherently different. When everyone’s native language is sport, it is hard to be lost in translations.

There is something organic that pulls together this endurance crowd. In each of these men exists some sort of raw determination that forces them into discomfort every single day for a lifetime. Without any hesitations, they have accepted their destiny. Their mutual acceptance of a life of distress has brought them together on this rather usual morning. Like any morning, this peculiar group of young men basks in the absence of any real stress; for the rest of the day would be much different and they all know that.

Weekly Coffee Ride / Beer Run to Les Rousses, France

An Incredible Group of Athletes in Premanon, France

Logan and I before heading to a World Cup CycloCross Race

Danish Super Star, Jacob Christiansen, and I during our last night

4 hours into ride... Andrew Lees and I ripping down into St. Claude, France. The "tour" climb awaits.

Eight of the best damn mustaches I've ever seen

Getting ready to ride with Ian Terry and Adam Aisen 

Paul was arguably one of the most badass guys in the entire country

Nothing Like Rocky IV

The story of my trip has barely been told, but I needed this time to take an intermission. Even though I have every intention of telling this story, the urge to write has disappeared. I found myself lost in the middle of the most serious training block of my life. For weeks, my brains sole purpose was to provide motivation for difficult training days. When those days ended, it seemed to turn itself off.

Four days ago, I caught a stomach virus that was making its way through the training facility in Premanon, France. After three long days in bed, I am finally considering returning to light training. This sickness brought my first break from training in over five weeks. Maybe catching this bug was even a blessing in disguise.

Anyways… before I get back to the story, here’s a glimpse into my life in Premanon, France.

Life seemed to stand still while traveling through the South of France. I was excited for a change of pace. I was excited to really start getting fit, and mostly, I was excited to have my own bed. After a very confusing and interesting final night on the road (I’ll get to that another day), I finally made it back to where I started… the Geneva Airport. It was hard to fight the excitement. I was about to be picked up and whisked into the mountains to find my new home in Premanon. As we headed away from civilization, it became pretty apparent that we were going to be living in a state of seclusion. At the time, this excited me. For an athlete, there has always been something mysterious about training in pure isolation. Like when Rocky seeks seclusion in the Russian wilderness to train for his big fight with Ivan Drago. Anyone who has seen that training montage has had fantasies about leaving society to train, only to return faster, stronger and much tougher. These two months would be my personal Rocky IV training montage.

After five weeks in the Jura Mountains, I’ve learned more than I have ever needed to know about training seclusion. Rocky seemed to make it work just fine, but let me fill you in on a few key aspects of training isolation that Rocky IV doesn’t teach you. For one, I haven’t been lucky enough to have Adrian swing by for a conjugal visit. It’s no surprise that Rocky’s training improved after his lady showed up at his cabin. An athlete, dealing solely with absolutes, longs for the soft contour of a woman. “Chasing it” may be a pastime too dangerous for a lonely endurance athlete, but at least it gives the mind a break from the daily toils of vigorous training. The hardest part of training off the grid is the allocation of free time. What the hell did Rocky do when he wasn’t lifting logs, chopping down trees, wading through icy rivers, trudging through mounds of snow, or summiting mountains with his bare hands? Did he sit around the fire and play Yahtzee with Paulie? Did he read books, watch adult movies, or do crossword puzzles? No! Of course he didn’t. That SOB trained from dawn till dusk. From what I gathered, recovery is not an aspect of Rocky’s training plan. Unfortunately, some of us don’t posses the ability to recover while doing pull ups above a raging fire. In real life, there are easy days, off days, sick days; days where you body won’t let you keep pushing. So what do you do then? Off time in the Jura Mountains has been the most difficult. Keeping yourself busy is easier said than done. For some reason, when life is as simple as it can possibly be, you lose every motivation to be productive. We spend 16 hours a day in a small door room set at 9000ft above sea level. After 4 straight weeks of this, your days become a little dull. Days blend together in a miasma of solitude. Nothing changes here. I assume that prison is similar, except more dudes, no wine with dinner, and the alleged occurrence of unsolicited fornication.

With each passing day, I find myself faster, stronger, and tougher. But it has had mental consequences. Like the other guys here, I’ve had my fair share of rough days. The movies don’t show you what you don’t want to see. Rocky IV must have cut the scene where Rocky freaks out and starts throwing flaming logs at Paulie because he is sick and tired of eating the same shitty ham sandwich for lunch everyday. The world doesn’t want to see that kind of action. But that is reality. No matter how tough the person, eventually something will crack them. Around here, the absence of life’s little comforts is enough to make a few guys falter. Training here in the mountains may seem great, but it takes a specific type of person to succeed. If we stay sane, we’ll all come out of this ordeal faster, stronger, and tougher. But it will never be like it was in the movies.