Colorado Training Camp

Prologue:

I got up at 4:30 to finish packing before I left Columbia at 6am. I packed into my van two duffel bags of workout clothes and shoes, a crate of bike equipment, a box of food, wetsuit, three bikes, rock climbing shoes and harness, and two books of CD's. I was preparing for what would intentionally be the most difficult week of training I could arrange. This would be 7 days of Ironman-specific training in Colorado. The idea is of taking a training camp is to set aside all the normal distractions of daily life: work, phone calls, relationships, e-mails, housework, etc, and focus on busting your butt. I am 6 weeks from Ironman Wisconsin. It is go time.

The drive through Kansas took more endurance than the Katy Trail Death ride a couple weeks ago. The main difference with that ride, a 225-mile off-road epic on July 4, was that at the end of the ordeal we would celebrate and go home. After I survived I-70 Kansas my work would be just beginning.

I arrived at 5pm to Youngblood's house in Denver. Youngblood, aka, Nate Wangerin, is an athlete whom I coached last year when he was a beginner triathlete. This week, the coach would become the athlete, the former disciple is now the master. Youngblood was this year's Race for Sight winner in the open division. He has been training with a Cat I cyclist named Ryan Gilmer. When I arrived, he asked if I felt like a 3 hour tempo ride. What the heck, I came to Colorado to ride. Why not start immediately!?

We began snaking through the streets of Denver, weaving through streets, up hills, and along bike paths. After a few minutes of warming up, Nate began to press the pace. This began the "tempo" approach to our ride, which essentially means push the pace continuously during the ride. I alternated between trailing in Youngblood's draft zone and pulling up alongside him to talk. Soon we were on the outskirts of town and riding up a gradual canyon. He was laying down a hard pace into the wind, and I had relegated myself to staying in the safety of the draft. Nate was stretched out on his road bike while I hammered in the aerobars of my Trek Hilo. He told me that we were riding towards Golden, and soon I could see in the distance the enormous complex that makes Golden, CO famous for the Coors brewery

When yeast ferments in a suspension of hops, yeast, and barley, the microscopic organisms eat grain sugar and produce a waste product known as alcohol. Presently, my muscles were engaged in a similar process, spewing lactic acid into my bloodstream, burning my quadriceps, overloading my heart and lungs. He just poured it on, and I hung on for dear life as we rode past the water cleansing facilities and soon were met with the smell of beer. We rolled into the parking lot of the brewery and turned to ride home. I was suffering, and I was finding what I had come for.

Day 1

I arose at 7 am my first morning in Colorado. My goal was to work out all day. Run, swim, ride, run. Swim again if there was time.

My training day started from the country club where Youngblood manages the pool. He had some work to do, so I began my day with a run. Currently running is the area where I am looking for a breakthrough: Whereas I can run 2 hours or 6-minute mile repeats fairly easily, I am looking for that ultra-distance ease that comes when you are completely efficient and confident of your running. I want to get off my bike at Ironman Wisconsin knowing that I have a lot of toughness ready to inflict on my competitors.

I set out for a run and quickly found some dirt fields where I could run off-road. The sun was warm and dry, and the prairie dogs laughed as I ran past. At first I felt sluggish because of the multiple bowls of cereal I had for breakfast, but soon I found my stride and ended up running an efficient-feeling 10 miles. The day was off to a good start. When I arrived back at the pool, Youngblood was there and we jumped in the pool.

Swimming was a different story. The effects of a few thousand feet elevation made itself evident in the pool. I could swim several strokes feeling great, but almost as quickly my coordination disappeared and my power waned. That is okay. Swim enough and you will always get through that feeling. We did 800 yards of speedwork and I never felt very smooth. Hopefully subsequent swims here would begin to feel better, or at least when I returned nearer to sea level. Two workouts down, onto the next one. A large turkey sandwich and a nap was my preparation for our next workout.

I recommend any serious triathlete to consider a training camp. This is the second time I have done one in Colorado. Each time I find that I am able to totally immerse myself in sport. Your mindset changes when you can talk, think about, and do training all day for several days in a row. Youngblood hooked us up with his mentor, a pro cyclist named Ryan who operates his own team, www.techniques.org. In his early thirties, Ryan has raced since age 9. He has raced for the US national team and European racing teams. He talked with a mix of nostalgia for the days when it was "Bobby Julich, Lance, and I heading to Europe." Last year he race the Mountain Biking World Cup series and finished 7^th in the world!! He continuously made jokes about Jonathan Vaughters being a whimp. (Vaughters had just dropped out of his umpteenth unfinished Tour de France.) "'Oh, oh, my hand hurts!' If you got paid $50,000 a year to do ONE THING, don't you think you'd figure out a way to get it done?" He also talked about some of the darker sides of cycle racing. It was unpleasant to think about the under-the-table aspects of an expensive sport like cycling.

The good news is that I got to hear lots of training ideas and racing stories from Ryan, the bad news was that I had to keep up to hear them. We set off on what would be a 6-hour training ride that would happily destroy my legs. After 90 minutes of riding, our first hurdle was a 6-mile, 4000 foot climb up Lookout Mountain. The climb began with an aggressive rise and never stopped. I was in my smallest and second smallest gear for 30 minutes. The ride snaked up along the edge of this cliff, switchbacks, and incredible knee-trembling views. The Coors brewery, earlier towering around us, was now shrinking into a tiny Lego structure. When we passed rock climbers my eyes got big. I was beginning to feel the altitude. While I had climbed behind Nate's rear wheel for a while, he now easily pulled away from me, and I told myself to just keep going, donÕt blow up. I could now feel the effects of the altitude, and would only allow myself a glance of the view, lest I lose track of my task at hand: Stay Moving Forward. My knees were hurting, my heart and lungs just as bad, my quads steadily increasing a burn. Yes! This is what I was here for. The pain and difficulty that would make an Ironman seem like a cakewalk.

We crested the climb as Ryan and Nate generously waited for me. As we started down the other side I took stock of my situation: I had spent myself on that climb, I was bonking and not sure what I had left for the rest of the ride. I had stretched a bit and managed to get my knees feeling okay, but I had only a little food and less bodily energy reserves. I thought that I could remember my why home.

Those guys would hear nothing of me turning back. They found me a caffeine source and I munched the pop tarts I had in my jersey pocket. Those were the best tasting pop tarts I had ever eaten! We continued riding, a few more climbs and searing descents and soon we were looping back towards home. It was a relief, and I was even starting to feel better. The biggest adrenaline rush of my less than 24 hours in CO was the ride back down those hairpins of Lookout mountain. I was really testing my equipment and testing my proprioceptionÑoneÕs sense of balance and bodily movementÑby passing cars down a hairpinning descent. Pedal, tuck, lean, pedal, breathe, breathe, breathe.

Now it is 10pm. The day consisted of 10 miles running, 2000 yard swim, 80 miles bike, and 3 more running. My belly is full of Endurox, Mrs. T's Pierogies, mixed greens, and a Flying Dog Pale Ale. Youngblood and I watched an hour of the Tour du France and struggled to stay awake. Tomorrow I would get up and start all over again. Tomorrow's mission: the Long Run.

Day 2

This morning started late, around 9:30. I forced myself to sleep late in order to be ready for the Bataan death march I had planned. That, and Youngblood was coaching prelims for the age 7 and under swimmers until late morning. I got up, had breakfast, and wrote yesterday's dispatch.

I heard that Colorado has some problems with forest fires, so I brought some nice weather from Missouri. The first night I got here it rained. Yesterday and today it was overcast and not too hot. The haze today gave the view a blue tint and allowed me to smash my longest recent long run.

The view today was incredible. I swear I could see into Kansas from this mountain. We were looking down onto the town of Boulder and the Boulder Reservoir.

He arrived around 11:00 and we got set to head up to a trail near Boulder. Nate rode my mountain bike and hauled water for me as I put in a 3-hour-even run. The first 40 minutes were the most painful, we started going straight up a rise into a canyon. Fortunately we ran out of mountain bike-able trail because I was fast approaching the tree line, so we then made way across some rolling pasture land next. I felt remarkably good and my heart rate was extraordinarily low given the altitude and previous day's training.

During this run I made an important discovery. I first stopped and walked for 2 minutes about 15 minutes into the run. After that, I periodically stopped for about 1 minute to hydrate, stretch, and recovery walk. It had to be a key contribution to how well I felt by the end of such a long run.

Day 3

ATTITUDE IS EVERYTHING

These are the words on the door of The Ranch Country Club pro shop where Youngblood is pool manager and youth swim coach. Youngblood (aka Nate) and I arrived to the pool at 7:15 in the morning. I was wearing a hooded sweatshirt pulled over my head. It had been a couple hard days of training and I was tired.

Nate warned me that the age 15-17 swimmers were frustrating to coach. It didn't take long for me to see why. They were resistant to even the simplest of directions, such as the warm up set of 300 swim, 200 kick, 100 stroke. Four girls talked among themselves in Lane 1 while Nate gave instructions for the next set. Others asked to leave early and put little effort into their workout. I guess there is something among adolescents where it is not cool to try hard, but these kids had it bad.

The next group, ages 8-10, were completely different. They listened closely to the next swim set and showed an investment in what they were doing, even with the excess energy that one would expect from kids that age. It was so exciting to see young Kendall, age 10, tearing it up in the pool with his thrashing freestyle stroke; coming in 10 seconds before the next kid. Nate said that a couple years earlier they were working hard to help Kendall swim across the pool. Now he was the fastest in the group.

I sat on the pool deck thoroughly enjoying watching them practice starts from the blocks and flip turns. My own turn to test my attitude was coming soon. As my "day off," I resolved to stay off my legs completely. Technically, though, I could swim like crazy . My first session in the pool began as the last 8-10 year olds were exiting the water.

Denver is around 5000 feet elevation, about 4000 feet above Missouri's elevation. (Correct me if I'm wrong, please.) People always warn me; "You'd better take a week to acclimate to the elevation. You will be light headed and weak." My experience, on the contrary, was very manageable. My first three days of predominantly cycling and running were difficult, yes, but also survivable. Perhaps the heart rate is a bit higher and the lactic acid threshold arrived quickly on hills, but all told, I was doing fine.

That all changed when I got into the pool. I normally breathe on a 3-stroke count, meaning I take three arm pulls between each breath. Diving into The Ranch pool, I could barely swim across the pool and back without gasping for air on that rhythm. So my first adaptation was to breath predominantly on a 2-stroke count. Unfortunately I still felt like I was struggling to get a "feel for the water." Here is what I did: The pool is right next to the tennis court, and a couple of tennis balls had made it over the fence into the pool area. I swam 500 yards grasping these in my fists. This drill is similar to a fist drill (i.e., swimming with fists instead of open hands), except that the buoyancy of the balls forces you to be even more precise with your swim stroke movement. I did some kick drills and some pulling drills and even put my wetsuit on to be creative in the water.

All told, nearing the end of a 3000-yard swim session I had gotten my feel for the water. It was not draining or demanding in terms of intensity, but a super important set because I found my feel for the water. That prepared me perfectly to drive with Nate to a greasy spoon and order a breakfast of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and toast. After that, we went back to his house and crashed for a 2-hour nap. Nate got up and headed out for a blistering cycling session. I shied away because, even though I am in good shape, I would have been chewed up and spit out by his workout. For me, it was back to the pool.

The afternoon swim set was supplied to me by Nate before he left, and involved 400's, 100's, and 50's. Barely able to breathe, this workout demanded everything I had to complete at a fast pace. I was even coming in slower than typical set in Wilson's pool, but working harder. Here is where my attitude was tested. I felt real pain, effortful, gasping-for-breath pain during that swim set. I was pushing myself to even finish the repeats. But that is the point. I drove, THROUGH KANSAS, to test myself for 1 week and to prepare for Ironman Wisconsin. I had to test my resources at a deep, personal level in order to finish that second 3000 yard swim in one day.

And today was my rest day.

Attitude Is Everything.

Day 4

Today's ride was a fantastic ride from Denver. We started in a northern suburb, and rolled from 104^th street to downtown and out the south end. The paved trail we were on then went 20 miles to a reservoir, and finally up a canyon. We turned around at 50 miles out, at the top of a 7-mile climb! It was hot and windy, a good test of resources. The ride up the canyon was a easier because we had a tailwind, but the headwind detracted from the ride back down. Awesome views and a killer workout.

The time of the year around the Tour de France is always amazing. This is a special time of year because it is right in the middle of the triathlon season, the culmination of many months of fitness training, and the temperature is hot. Right now my body seems like it can do anything I push it through, similar to Lance. His training and riding is an inspiration. I train so that in my own way I can be like him. Each person can and should do this in their own way. I coach and am friends with lots of people who put time and energy into training. I hope it is a tiny bit as rewarding to everyone else as it is to me.

I am like Lance in another way, too. I am ready for this ordeal to be over. I have 230 miles cycling, 33 miles running, and 1200 yards swimming. and it is only Thursday. I am going to take a huge recovery after this week. I only have a couple more challenges coming: mountain biking and rock climbing. I am so excited to compare these to what we have in Columbia. I'm sure it will stack up well.

A major coup was scored today when I visited the Pier 1 Imports for a present for Lisa, my wife. I am so excited to see her this Sunday and miss her during my training on the road.

Day 5

Thursday was supposed to be a fun day, and it started out that way. I woke up late at Youngblood's house, and everybody in the house had left for work already. I did my favorite activity; sat around in my boxers and ate cold cereal while watching television. Mr. Rogers was on. His warm voice was calmly reassuring:

"I'm really glad that we get to spend this time together. (Stands up and takes sweater off.) We learned lots of new things today, didn't we? Just remember to look inside yourself, and you will find good stuff inside. (Puts on white shoes) We'll see each other again soon, and you'll tell me lots of new stories, and I'll tell you new stories too. Bye now. (Waves and exits door of playhouse)."

As the trolley of Fantasyland rolled away, I reflected on what a good friend Mr. Rogers is. I could feel the power inside of myself from his words. I lounged around the house little longer, because I was to depart for Rifle, CO. This is where my childhood friend Wayne lives. He invited me to join his friends for a group off road ride around Rifle. After a quick detour to the pedestrian mall in Boulder for some lunch, I was off to Rifle.

I've done a lot of mountain biking. I own a very nice XC hardtail mountain bike, ideal for almost any riding in the Midwest. I thought I was pretty good at the sport. I was about to get the complete schooling, the thorough ass-whupping that is very good for a person. I went into this off-road ride having no idea whatsoever what I was about to experience.

Rifle is on the Western side of the Rockies, which tends to be quite arid and hot. This is also the location for the now-cancelled off-road Ironman. The off-road ironman was cancelled because the race director waited until about a month ago to arrange for EMT personnel for the event. Unfortunately, they have had a little problem with fires in Colorado and so there aren't any spare EMT's standing around for an off-road Ironman. I think that he had some inkling that it was a good idea to cancel the event, at least I hope he did. I can easily wrap my mind around the notion of an Ironman, I've won one. But this terrain was unreal.

My first clue was when Wayne showed me an extreme biking video. It showed body armor-clad, full facial helmet wearing X-games attending freaks flinging themselves down double and triple sets of stairs, down mountains, off roofs, and through motocross parks. Wayne, four of his friends, and I met to begin the group ride. I quickly noticed that I was the only one there with neither disc breaks nor dual suspension. My fancy XC hardtail was about to be rendered useless. One guy, with a particularly beefy dual suspension bike simply described it as "cross country." Okay.

We started riding out of town, and soon left what passed for a gravel road. While in Rifle, I read in the "New West" newspaper that there was an effort to identify roads in the area before they were forgotten. Missouri roads are bad, but this is ridiculous. Next we were off the road and things went from bad to worse. Imagine riding your bike across a sand beach. Now cover the beach with a maze of tangled, natty scrubs. There were big patches of cacti, boulders, dry creak bed drop-offs, and thorn bushes. We rode uphill through this stuff for over an hour.

The only redeeming quality was the panoramic, movie set-like mountains around us on all sides. I kept thinking to myself, during my suffering, how beautiful the view and happy I was. My front tire slid out and I slammed to the ground, tangled up in my bike.

Thank you bones for not breaking, I thought.

I now realized what a folly it was for me to try to keep up with these guys. Soon we were doing what they considered the "real climbing,"which made Rock Bridge park look like a joke. At least at Rock Bridge, if you fall you aren't going to tumble hundreds of feet down a cliff. I resigned myself to walking anything I didn't feel comfortable on, which meant I was walking quite a bit. Damn the view was beautiful when I stopped trying to keep up. I wondered what Mr. Rogers would have said to me then:

"Even if you can't keep up with those guys, you're special. You don't have to be the best, just try your best. No matter what the outcome, if you try your hardest, than you will be just fine to me."

Two and a half hours of riding around Rifle completely schooled me. I was humbled. Wayne and I ran high school cross country together, and he never showed much inclination or motivation in those days. But he had become a far better athlete than I had ever known him to be. And Ironman fitness does not an off-road rider make. I can't believe that they were going to send triathletes through 112 miles of that kind of riding, 2 laps up and down a cliff (I saw the route), then a marathon through even worse terrain.

But then again, maybe there is something good in biting off more than you can chew. I know next time I ride off-road in Rifle, I will be prepared.