For just a minute, think what it might be like to sign up for a 10K road race knowing you were going to have to run it with a long tube threaded up your nose, down your throat, and into your stomach. (Yes, a tube reaching from the nostril to the stomach.) Then, just for kicks, imagine doing the race with your spouse tethered to you via that very “nose leash,” running alongside you for the entire event: stride for stride, occasionally bumping you, and only inches away. And if you are really imaginative, pretend that you are doing this on Halloween day, and that everyone who sees you with the medical tape splashed across your face, tube in nose, and large contraption attached to you tells you that you have a really great costume. If you are anything like me, you are thinking that this is ridiculous, and that there is pretty much no chance in hell you are going to try it. If you are Amanda, you sign up willingly, all in the name of science.

Yesterday, while I was running alongside Amanda at the Eerie Erie 10K outside of Boulder, I had a lot of time to think about how tough my wife is. I was imagining how painful it must be to run pretty well flat out with a tube in the throat. A tube in the throat. It’s one thing to have the damn probe going up the nose, but when oxygen is at a premium, like when you’re running a hard 10k, over hills, at altitude, breathing is kind of important. It’s not that the tube went down her trachea, but it’s only just next door. Breathing hard is a challenging enough task, but try doing it with an unwanted intruder in your throat.

It’s not that I am seeing my wife’s toughness for the first time; it’s quite the contrary, in fact. I have watched her steely gaze hone in on a prey, chase it down, and fight to be the first across the line. I have watched her face a winning day with the exact same grace she possesses on a losing day. I have watched her walk more than her fair share of Ironman marathons. Post-race, I have watched her remove bloody shoes from her bloody feet without so much as a flinch. And I have seen her sit through a flu that nearly killed me, without uttering a single solitary complaint. On top of that I have seen her suffer through some incredibly challenging workouts; I have seen her sweat, bleed, cough, snot, and occasionally fart her way through a nasty treadmill session, all the while unintentionally scaring off her health club neighbors with her grunts. On one particularly impressive occasion, she actually sat through a family barbeque, trudged through a four-hour bike ride, and endeavored to get in a swim workout, all while suffering from a highly painful appendicitis. She may have half-heartedly attempted to spit out a portion of something resembling a complaint, when she asked me to take her to the doctor’s office to find out why her abdomen was aching so badly. Surgery was her reward for that.

In my ten years of living with, laughing with and loving this woman, I have often marveled at her toughness. She must have been raised right, because she clearly learned long ago that complaining does not get her anywhere in this world. What has always worked for her is figuring out the path to take, and then being tough enough to get the job done, no matter the task at hand.

But let’s turn back to the probe.

Yesterday’s test was ordered by her team of GI docs. Yes, the same GI docs who managed to talk her into jamming an even thicker probe up her nose and down her throat a few weeks ago to see if her esophagus had good motility. While they fed her applesauce and saline (delicious), they monitored how efficiently or inefficiently her esophagus moves food down to her stomach. After telling her this would not hurt, the docs accidentally jammed the tube into Amanda’s trachea. (It turns out threading a probe down the throat is a lot like running internally routed cables inside a bike frame that has no guides: it’s blind luck!) And after cutting off her air supply for a brief moment, the docs backed out the probe and tried again. I think I took this worse than Amanda did, and I was comfortably seated across from her in the waiting chair. While this was very traumatic to Amanda, she sat calmly through the entire procedure, anxious to find a solution to the problems that have been plaguing her.

But again, let’s return to yesterday’s probe.

Amanda has been experiencing some troublesome GI-related problems in her racing. They are not the lower-GI type of problems that send us to the porto-potty; but rather they are the type that affect her upper GI (from mouth to stomach). She has finally gotten to the point where her conservative GI doc has offered one more test before clearing her for a potential surgical fix. That final test is what lead to the tube in throat trick.

The idea was that Amanda would race with a device that could measure the pH of her reflux. This would determine if the hiatal hernia was, in fact, the cause of her woes; or if we’d been barking up the wrong tree. Our very helpful team of docs devised a plan to test her symptoms while in a race setting, thus the probe and its handy (bulky!) recording device. After a warm-up jog with the hefty and awkward measuring device strapped under her arm, Amanda and I decided to see if I could carry the contraption for her. It would be just like running with Luna on a leash; I only need one arm to run, right? We figured out that I could stay close enough to Amanda that I would not impede her progress, and she’d be able to push herself to the desired intensity, with the added benefit of using both arms.

We covered the opening mile in 5:35.

I did my best not to nudge her; I did my best not to yank the probe out of her nose. I did my best to keep from tripping and taking her down. She just did her best to run a race; and she did so with her characteristic steely gaze, with labored breathing, and with the determination and the toughness that epitomize Amanda.

After 6.2 miles, Amanda crossed the finish line as the first female, fifth overall, with a new course record, and with a smile on her face. And a tube up her nose. And for that, amongst many other reasons, I tell you that Amanda is tough as hell.

To look at my finish time from Saturday’s race, the natural assessment would be that something went disastrously wrong: that I belly-flopped on the Big Day; that I somehow managed to mess up my pacing, my strategy, or my nutrition; or that I executed a badly run race.  The finish time was my slowest ever; the marathon was my longest yet; and the drop from 9th place in 2008 to 538th place this year was the farthest I’ve ever fallen.  This was my worst Ironman ever; however, I executed an OK race.   So what went wrong?

My season focus had been squarely set on this race.  There was no doubt about it: throughout the year everything I aimed for was to help me prepare for my ascent up the ranks in Kona.  My three ninth-place finishes proved to me that I know how to race in Hawaii; but this year was the year I upped the ante.  I was going for the podium.

My race season was strong: I competed frequently, I trained hard, and I recovered well.  I made my way to autumn with a hunger and a freshness I had not had in past years.  My assault on the Hawaii Ironman seemed to go perfectly from February to August.  I was on track and my confidence was sky high.

At the start of September my fitness was better than it had ever been when starting my IM training build. I was faster, fitter, and fresher than I had ever been.  But then I got greedy.  To look back now at the path I followed, and the choices I made, it seems obvious that I was going too far.  However, my plan was to try something new to achieve a new result, so I kept on pushing.  I was on fire in training, and I was getting hotter by the day.  And then I got a bit greedier still.  I wanted more.  Logically, if I could take an even better swim, bike, and run into the biggest race of the year, I would swim, bike and run faster than I ever had.

Midway through September, I hit my first speed bump of the entire 2009 season.  I hit the wall.  I got angry.  I got tired.  I lost my momentum.  So I took a short break to try and rebound.  After the rest, I got back on track and proceeded to follow the track laid out before me.  Mentally, I was right back where I needed to be.

In the days leading into the race, I truly believed I had dodged the bullet.  The concerns and worries I had midway through September (that I had cooked myself too much) were gone from my mind. My taper sessions were spot-on, and I was attending to every detail.  The support I got from Amanda while in Kona was incredible: she did everything possible to ensure that I was ready on race day.  I felt great and I was ready to race.

My track record in the Kona swim is not too good.  As has happened in the past, I was dropped from the group and I exited the water over two minutes down from the main contenders.  But many other top athletes were still close, so I set out to join a good group for the bike ride.  My training this year has allowed me to handle a very hard first hour of riding, with the ability to settle in and recover once I have bridged up.  I have done this multiple times in my 70.3 racing this season, and I was very comfortable with the method.   Within the first eight miles, I did everything I could to ride my way up to a competitive bunch up the road.  With company on the Queen K, the miles go by much more smoothly.   Sadly, my legs did not respond to my efforts.  I pushed the pedals, but they felt squishy and unresponsive.  My initial assessment was that I would come around later in the ride.    I kept after the pace, and I pushed and pushed, disregarding the fact that my effort was not lining up at all with my speed.

At least I had good equipment!

At one point–approximately fifteen miles into the ride–I found myself around  last year’s 4th, 5th, and 6th place finishers. Two of us took control at the front of our mini-group, and we encouraged one another to ride hard enough to bridge the gap.  But I could not shake the feeling that my effort was not at all in line with my pace; I was working way harder than I should have been to see those numbers.  But I put this out of my mind, and I rode as well as I could.  And all along the way, I was tending to an absolutely perfect hydration and nutritional plan.  My consumption was right on; but it did not make my legs feel any better.  Execution has let me down in the past, and I was intent not to let that happen this time around.

Somewhere between Kawaihae and Hawi, I realized I was dragging a long line of guys up the hill.  I figured that was a good sign, even if I was losing ground to the others up the road.  I kept pushing, and I hoped that I’d be strong enough to handle the infamous Hawi winds.  Finally, I did have a brief glimpse of strength as I closed in on the turnaround in Hawi. As I pedaled toward the turn, the seemingly ever-present headwinds in that segment were mild or nonexistent.

Approaching the turn in Hawi, I saw that I was way behind the leaders.  There were also a lot more guys ahead of me than there typically are, which was a testament to the great field we had assembled.  I did what came naturally, which was to shake it off. I knew I could ride that last 50 miles pretty hard, and I’d do my best to keep myself in the game.

On my way back home I started to feel worse and worse about the effort I was having to put into the ride.  I had felt that way once before, in 2004, when I was giving everything I had to ride fast, but nothing was working.  My hydration and nutritional plans seemed to be working, as I was alert, present and peeing.  However, the mental toll the subpar ride was taking on my spirits was hard to ignore.

I managed to suffer through all the sections of the race I normally find extra challenging; however, I was finding it hard to tackle the sections I normally crush.  Right now it is difficult to describe how frustrating this was, but I am well aware that many of you reading have experienced this sensation before.   Some days you have it, and some days you do not.  By my nature, I do not give up, and I continued expecting things would come around.

Finishing the bike ride, I was faced with a larger deficit than normal, but I am fairly comfortable with facing long odds in T2.  I know this race very well, and I know my competitors equally well.  The top step of the podium is won by the athlete who is strongest, smartest, and toughest; whereas many of the other top spots are won by those who win the war of attrition.  I normally hold up pretty well in that regard.   So I started the run with every intention of running my way to the top twenty or beyond.

Early in the run, all signs pointed to another strong marathon.  I was hydrated, I was coherent, and I was freshly motivated.  The splits I received were bad, but undeterred, I was ready to turn things around.  Miles one and two were quick and comfortable.  Mile three was moderate.  But by mile four I found myself facing a challenge I had never had before: mentally I was drained.  Looking back I can now see that I had used nearly every ounce of motivation in me, nearly every mental trick I had, and nearly every race tactic to merely survive the bike ride.  I had drained the pot, and I still had over two hours of running ahead of me.  I looked to my deepest reserves to see if I could race this race with a depleted supply of physical and mental energy.   My initial answer was that yes, I could.

By mile six I realized that I was wrong.  I was running down Ali’i; I was getting incredible support from my friends, my family, and other spectators along the road; but I was dreading the task at hand.  I was empty.

I used the cheers and screams and shouts for another four miles.  I knew they would carry me to the top of Palani.  Crowd support in Kona is unreal.  However, I realized that I could not finish a race on external motivation alone.  And my internal drive was gone.

I crested the hill and turned onto the Queen K.  Ironically, just at the point where I normally begin to reel in the competition and unload a full-fledged attack, I opted to walk and jog my way to the finish.  I was not prepared to give up, but I was finally giving in to the fact that my body and mind did not have what I needed to keep racing, and I would need to cruise my way to the finish.

Shortly thereafter, from the side of the road, Amanda reminded me how much I love this race, and she told me to find the joy and fun in being out there.  It was a great thing to hear, as I suddenly realized that throughout the draining and powerless bike ride, I had not only sapped my mojo, but I had not enjoyed any part of the race (something that is very uncharacteristic of me).  I started the next fifteen miles with the goal of figuring out a way to enjoy my 10th finish in Kona, and finally, after a few miles, I managed to realize that goal.

Looking back at the whole 2009 Kona experience, I can see many errors in my ways.  I can see that I did not really need to change everything to achieve goal to finish top-three.  I can see clearly that I already knew how to prepare for this event, and that rewriting the book was unnecessary.  However, I can also say that I have no regrets about how I approached the year. I changed things up, I raced hard, and I went for it.  Along the way, I had a great season of racing, and I gave it an honest go in Hawaii.  It just so happened that my body needed to race this event on a different day.

And it is safe to say that I will be back next year with sound preparation and a fresh pot of mental energy, and I will have another honest go at the podium.  Without question or doubt, I will be back.

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Topic of the blog: Put the same thing in, get the same thing out.

What does that mean?  Well, in this case, it means that I am mixing things up a bit this year, with the plan of mixing things up differently in October.  I have been very happy with my consecutive top-ten finishes in Hawaii; however, my aim is to finish higher.  I have, therefore, changed what I am putting in, so I can change what I am getting out.

This year I chose not to race an Ironman in the spring/ early summer.  I chose to train differently, under the guidance of Cliff English.  And I chose to get faster and more competitive at the 70.3 distance.  And finally, I chose to do a training camp in Kona.

Skipping over the details of my first few choices, I will now jump to my final choice listed here: the camp.  To sum things up, I had an incredibly productive time on the Big Island; I trained long, hard hours alone, and I pushed myself on the race course in a way I not previously done in training.  I feel that the time spent this August will lay a great foundation for my Ironman build next month, as well as for my race in October.

Details and photos found their way to my Twitter account, and various stories and recaps may surface in my now weekly blogs.   Let’s see if I can do it!

We’ve moved my blog over here, and with the relocation I have decided that I’m going to make weekly updates. This is my “new site” resolution. Let’s see if it sticks.

Topic of the blog: Put the same thing in, get the same thing out.

What does that mean? Well, in this case, it means that I am mixing things up a bit this year, with the plan of mixing things up differently in October. I have been very happy with my consecutive top-ten finishes in Hawaii; however, my aim is to finish higher. I have, therefore, changed what I am putting in, so I can change what I am getting out.

This year I chose not to race an Ironman in the spring/ early summer. I chose to train differently, under the guidance of Cliff English. And I chose to get faster and more competitive at the 70.3 distance. And finally, I chose to do a training camp in Kona.

Skipping over the details of my first few choices, I will now jump to my final choice listed here: the camp. To sum things up, I had an incredibly productive time on the Big Island; I trained long, hard hours alone, and I pushed myself on the race course in a way I not previously done in training. I feel that the time spent this August will lay a great foundation for my Ironman build next month, as well as for my race in October.

Details and photos found their way to my Twitter account, and various stories and recaps may surface in my now weekly blogs. Let’s see if I can do it!