The Running Man of Blaxland

Job Done

2010-04-30T23:59:00.000-07:00

When a tree falls in the rainfores it may be the first time that light has hit the forest floor in 50 years or more. Within weeks seeds that have laid dormant, waiting for such a moment, begin what in some cases is a 200 year journey to the to the top of the forest. Some of those seeds grow into vines and may grow 8m a year. These sadly pass on within a few years, however they make way for the much slower growing hardwood trees. These trees spend the time to develop a strong core and have little competition for the canopy - the ultimate space and the engine room of the forest.

The analogies found in the forest and the rest of nature are obvious. I look for them everywhere.

This year I have finished a long and hard journey. The goal was to finish the Port Macquarie Ironman and in doing so this beacon I was aiming for would take me on a course of action that would forever change my life. I have thought long and hard about what I would write in the race report, for this is the final chapter right? Wrong. There is no final chapter. The race was important however by the time I was floating in the water, waiting for cannon to fire, this leg of the journey was done. Mumbai killed the worst parts of me, Ironman spawned a new me or perhaps dug up the relics of the best of me and re-fueled the fire that has long been but a flicker of light.

The helicopter flew over head, the pro's started to swim, then the cannon went off - in that order. Game on. I swam conservatively then rode with reckless ambition. One by one I went past the better swimmers until the 90km mark. Then 'bang', no, not the sound of an exploding tyre, rather the sound my heart made when a group of 40 odd triathletes ride back past. I was in a world of hurt. I rode the whole way on my own and watched as this group sat up, tucked in and took a free ride to the marathon. 3 motor bikes went with them and few, if any, got pinged for drafting.

I made it to T2 in a little better shape and began the marathon. Any ideas I had of beating a rounded hour time were long since gone. It was simply survival. The sun was unforgiving as it fought desperately to cling on to it's time in the southern hemisphere. Damn it did a good job of it! Lap 1 down and I was feeling ok, lap 2 down and I saw the first PIS member finish 3rd overall to a roaring and excited crowd. I knew my time was to come but first I had to learn something out here. Humility? Tolerance? perhaps many more. The 3rd lap was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. Every step was harder than the one before until Scam gave me some encouragement 2km from the finish. I found a last reserve and enjoyed the finish of the race with seemingly fresh legs. The last 100m is a drug, both addictive and anesthetizing.

I have written all but a white paper on the race. I have considered everything I did in preparation and there is long list of things to put in place for next year. But for now at least I get to have some well-earned rest. I may even get to know Dr Phil and the others as people and not training machines!

Today marks 12 months until my next attempt. I have entered - Bring it on!

The Greatest Show on Earth

2010-03-13T22:59:00.000-08:00

Richard Dawkins refers to the evolution of life as "The Greatest Show on Earth". I would find it hard to argue otherwise. However, for the sake of this blog and in the spirit of Mohammad Ali I am going to refer to the last 15 months, for myself anyway, 'the greatest show on earth'. My personal evolution from a defeated and battered individual who made excuses for way things were and justified hanging around people who liked it that way to the person I am today. I am but 14 sleeps away from the end of this chapter. 'Mumbai to Port Macquarie' is nearing the end with only a few sleeps, some easy training, some mental rehearsal and final race preparations and of course, the Ironman race, are all that remains in this stanza.

Pictured: I have gone to all sorts of effort to prevent another flu.

I thought by this stage I would be on edge, rippled with veins, a chiseled jaw and a distance look with eyes firmly on the prize. I would suggest that these things are partly the case but far from what I envisaged. I guess I thought I would be more emotional about it all now the journey is nearing the end. The reality is the emotional experiences came throughout this journey. Training for the Ironman has been the humbling, personally hypertrophying experience I'd wished for and the race is the last paragraph in this chapter.

The last few weeks have tested me physically and probably more so, mentally. After The Huski Long Course I had to attend a conference in Port Douglas for 4 days. I didn't miss a beat of training. The swim on Monday was perhaps, the hardest thing I have physically done yet. I battled up and down the pool in the resort at a rate of speed I think a 8 year old would be annoyed with. I accepted it as just a day post half ironman thing and trained through it. I did my 2 runs on Tuesday and swim on Wednesday. I returned home for the big 3 days - Friday swim 5km, Ride 135km and run 10km. Saturday 140km ride / 20km run (including 10 x 1 mile efforts) and 3km swim. Sunday 160km ride. I was sniffly, coughing and struggling to sleep. My temperature was up and I was as moody as ever and that was on the Friday so why I persisted with the weekend I'll never know exactly but it resulted in me having the next 5 days in bed with the flu and the subsequent week with post viral symptoms. I am so annoyed with myself for getting that way especially as it was not that long ago I promised I would recognise the early symptoms. I spent the last week on a conference in Hamilton Island struggling with a chesty cough and general lack of wellness.

That brings me to the weekend we are in the twilight of. I got back from the second conference on Friday night and eventually fell asleep before starting what would be my last 'decent' training session before the final 2 week taper. My last hitout with the PIS squad was spent on my own all day. I hadn't the energy to go out hard in the 140km ride so I had to drop ego and spin around on my own. We then had a small jog before the 8 x 1 mile runs. Surprisingly they came quite easy and I was able to hold a better pace without the effort than what I have previously been able to do. Maybe the forced rest has been needed and for the good. I have to believe this. Today I limited myself to a 20km run in the national park.

Mumbai feels like it almost never happened. The other crap before it feels even less real. I guess this sojourn of mine has served it's purpose and my evolution has been 'the greatest show on earth', in an egocentric kinda way!

Lone wolf in a lone wolf pack

2010-02-27T22:27:00.000-08:00

One of my favourite movies from 2009 was 'The Hangover'. Without a doubt it was the perfect bucks weekend and should I get the opportunity to have one then I hope it plays out something like it did in this movie. One of the lines early in the movie was 'I was a lone wolf in a lone wolf pack'. It was made by a character that had he not been part of the family he would never have been invited on such a trip. He was explaining (quite humorously) that he never felt like he fitted in and finally he did - out of politeness.

We are tribal by nature. We wear the colours of our team or sing the songs of our club and country. People attend church and political rallies and are indoctrinated into disliking or not trusting competitor companies. Many have sacrificed their life in the name of tribalism. I now find myself part of a new tribe and it has forced me to have a deeper think about why and how this happened. My new tribe is the gaggle of people I train with on the weekends. The people I slug it out with for hours at a time in the pursuit of the perfect Ironman. It (being part of a tribe) is a primitive yet imperative part of out survival and evolution as a species. Being part of a tribe meant that people could have different jobs within the group so we all didn't have to be concerned with collecting food and staying safe. Being part of a tribe is to be human and important and perhaps many of societies ills are a result of people feeling disaffected and not belonging to any tribe. These people are left on the outer. These are the people who may wish harm on themselves or others - the bullied becomes the bully.

I remember seeing a BBC doco about cooperation with chimps. The study found that 2 chimps would solve a problem and cooperate to get the booty (banana). This worked each time until only one of the chimps got the banana and the other missed out. The chimp that missed out refused to help the next time around - a single event which resulted in one chimp missing out on the reward was enough to condition that chimp into not helping again. The author concluded that this is where humans evolved and chimps didn't - humans would still help for the good of the tribe and chimps would always require the extrinsic motivator. And this is where the doco and I parted agreement. Perhaps it is right in many cases however I suspect we still carry this legacy of our distant ancestors. We all turn up each Saturday knowing that the group helps each of us and when it doesn't serve our needs we do our own thing. Today I did my own thing and hence became the lone wolf in a lone wolf pack. I hope this doesn't go against my record and I can still wear the club colours at the ironman!

The last couple of weeks have been the usual turbulent 'days of our lives' journey towards Port. Only 3 days before my last big hit-out before the Ironman I was getting blood taken from me and put into vials for testing. I was left completely depleted and virtually unable to move for a few days following a Saturday session. This wasn't just a matter of being sore or tired it was more like systemic inflammation, leaving me with asthma and soft tissue and joint pain. Like the half ironman my ITB was as tight as fat person's jocks. I tried to go for a jog on the Tuesday before, only being able to get to a canter for a couple of k's before being reduced to a slow walk. Things slowly improved and on the Saturday I was able to get a light jog and ride in. I was not expecting anything great from the next day's race which doubled as the 'Australian long course championships'.

My race wasn't actually that bad in the end. I was still flat which mainly affected my swim and ride, and somehow I perked up for run (thanks caffeine!). I ended up in 28th place. Initially I was somewhat disappointed however upon reflection I realised that what I have done is fantastic. I have come from hell a year and bit ago. I have lost 28kg. I have retrained my mind and reshaped my body. I have prepared to complete my first Ironman and in the process taken 28th place overall in the Australian long course championships (2km swim, 83km ride, 20km run). And with that, I got on a plane for Port Douglas and spent the next week on conference and training in a tropical wet season.

This weekend's training was virtually the same as everyone of the last 12 weeks - heaps of it. I have 28 days to go so my priority is to get and stay healthy. Nothing stupid - just take the K.I.C. approach (keep it corporate) and keep my head low. Until next time - au revoirre.

Defining success

2010-02-17T00:33:00.000-08:00

So just what is it to be successful? The obvious examples I think that most would give are probably concerned with comparing a person with someone else. "Wow Johnny you beat everyone in your race. You're so successful!". I am sure success is often considered on achievement of an award or standard. Maybe these examples are OK however I would like offer an alternative to the definition of success. This isn't a "I can't win so let's lower the bar success" rather perhaps more rigorous and difficult to attain. If one considers the starting point of any task then measures success based on the difference between this and the finish then you may find a starkly different group of people that you consider to be successful. I'll give an example...

I went to the University of Western Sydney and studied to become a teacher. I received my degree a few years later and did in fact become a teacher. Many of my friends at Uni were part of the first generation in their families to do this, unlike myself and others who had parents with a degree. I would argue that being first generation degreed is more successful than second as the gap is wider. My father may define success - he grew up in a 2 bedroom housing commission home with 2 siblings. He did his leaving certificate 3 times to get a high enough score to go to teachers college. He then went on to have a long and happy career as a teacher in some of Sydney's less affluent suburbs. The gap between his start and finish is far, far wider than my own. Society may argue that a lawyer is more successful than a teacher. I reckon my dad is more successful than most high court judges!

The reason I thought about this was the result of a few remarks I've had recently about my size. I have had a few mates suggest that I need to lose more weight. I spent the 11 years prior to the events in Mumbai working-out to become a big forward for Rugby Union. I managed to get up to 106kg and I am sure that most would have come off second best in a contact on the pitch (if I say so myself!) Following Mumbai I made a transition back to an earlier love of mine, triathlon. I started training to complete an ultra distance triathlon (Ironman). I am now less than 6 weeks away from this and I have (so far) got down to 79kg. That's a loss of 27kg. In the process I have ridden over 9000km, run over 2500km and swam about 500km. Now I am not saying that I wouldn't love to win my age group in the Port Ironman or get a spot for Hawaii because I would. I love to compete. I am just feeling pretty successful having achieved what I have. There is no medal, no pay cheque or no article in the newspaper about it yet I still feel remarkably successful. To do well at the competition would be icing on the cake. The journey so far has been my defining story.

My training was going great until last Saturday. I did something I have done before and gone too hard for too long without adequate recovery. It has cost me another few days of training as I can't even get up to a canter at the moment. My fault. I accept it and as soon as I am done feeling like this I will be back... and unfortunately, I will probably do it again!

I am nervous, I am excited, I am healthy, I am sick, I am certain, I am unsure, I am living.

4 weeks into camp

2010-01-30T21:23:00.000-08:00

I can't believe my last post was 4 weeks ago. This simply means that training is going well. So well in fact that I am too shattered most days to even think of something to write let-a-lone participate in the act of blogging. A Lazy Sunday afternoon has finally arrived and with it the opportunity to get this thing up to date.

I will start by saying that each Saturday for the last 4 weeks I have gone to bed knowing that I have just completed the toughest day of training in my life. I can only imagine what I will be thinking in 7 weeks from now... I will also point out that this weekend I was reminded what little control we have over some events - more on that later...

My key sessions are:
Tuesday - double run
Friday- swim, Long hills ride and Run
Saturday- Long firm ride + run, swim
Sunday- long ride.

Amongst all of this during the week are treadmill runs, swim sessions, light rides and runs. All up leaving me pretty smashed most of the time.

The week just gone may give a good insight into my training for my first ever attempt at an Ironman distance triathlon.

Monday PM swim ~ 4km including plenty of kick and drills (just what my legs felt like after 400km of riding over the weekend!).
Tuesday - run ~30km in the Glenbrook national park as part of the Australia Day fatass event (thanks to the organisers of this I loved it) and a firm 14km in the arvo on a treadmill (It would have looked pretty ugly to anyone else in the gym at the time - I was in a world of hurt). Wednesday AM swim ~ 3.5km, again drills and a decent main set.
Thursday - Swim ~4km, Ride ~130km including 2 laps of Old Bathurst Rd, and a lap each of lapstone hill and Bellbird hill over in Kurrajong. (mountain climbs) and 13km on a treadmill at my optimal fat oxidising Heart Rate - these runs can get boring as I basically have to get to a speed and only shift it by .1km/hr as needed to keep my HR constant.
Friday- I switched Friday for Thursday this week due to a work commitment so only a got in a 70min hills run in the morning.
Saturday- 140km firm ride with P.I.S. (Penrith Institute of Sport) followed by Run -10 x 1 mile repeats and a 3 x 1km swims.
Sunday- 160km firm ride (with P.I.S.) taking me up to Bell and all the hills and mountain climbs it includes.

And now I get to relax... Tomorrow AM it all starts again...

I am starting to feel OK on Mondays. From Wk 1-4 I was tired, grumpy and moody for the first day of the working week. (I generally stayed that way until Thursday- sorry colleagues). Wk 5-8 has seen a remarkable improvement in my adaptation to training - and mood. Next week is the beginning of wk 9 and it marks the beginning of the heavy 4 weeks that is February... I am slightly nervous but really looking forward to finding out what more I can do.

I had 2 unfortunate experiences over the weekend which again reminded me what little control we have over so many things. The first was something simple yet it required myself and a whole bunch of other people to get their wheels trued. A cyclist in front of me didn't see a crater the size of the grand canyon- he managed to narrowly avoid it while the rest of us rolled on in. Their was plenty of cursing as the sound of one bike after another took the same route. Bottles went everywhere and bikes had to be ridden for remaining 100km on wobbly wheels. The next unfortunate incident occurred about 150km into today's ride. About 15 of us were just finishing up a tough, wet day in the mountains. At about 60km/hr the cyclist behind me clipped my wheel. He went over his bars and skidded along the highway but was OK. The physical damage was done to my new machine - he disintegrated my back wheel - it was a twisted mess of broken spokes. I can't believe I didn't have a fall. Thanks to Sleeptrain for picking my wet sorry ass up and getting me back home. As far as stacks go these were both very mild however the last one particularly has been a timely reminder of how potentially fragile we are. Also... very glad I can still get out on my road bike while the boys at Panther Cycles get my TT bike back on the road.

2009- My Year in Review

2009-12-30T14:15:00.008-08:00

The biggest lessons come from the most extraordinary of circumstances. The past year has been my most significant in terms of personal growth. It could never have happened without the 3 or 4 years I struggled through before finding myself running and hiding from a terrorist in November last year (2008). I truly had to bottom out before I could begin my ascent.

The fading light of 2008 saw the ushering out of a period in my life that I was glad to see the back of. It was happening like so many new years eves previous; a few drinks with friends before heading down to see the fireworks display on the river. I was still pretty shaken up from the events in Mumbai a little over a month before however I had taken some pretty positive steps and I felt like I had turned a corner. I had every reason to celebrate - I was alive and I was with good friends. We finished up at the holiday house and began making our way down to the river to see the fireworks. I was a few steps behind my friends and feeling pretty pleased with life when I heard a 'boom' then 'crack, crack, crack'. I froze. I knew (rationally) what I heard was peaceful however hearing this brought back the recent memories of Mumbai. My 2009 began with tears streaming down my face. I was frozen in fear. Not exactly how I had planned to start a year that I anticipated was going be great. I know that we often use the new year as a starting and stopping point for things however i was clearly in a 'through' point. This turned out to be one of three major episodes of post traumatic stress that I would go on to experience. My good friend Lins realised I wasn't with them and figured out pretty quickly what was happening and came back to help. I had to go through the next two on my own. They were both fairly similar experiences which I thought someone was shooting at my house. I again thought it probably PTS but it was so real I had to get certainty. On one occasion I layed and waited until daylight before going outside to see if there were any bullet holes in my walls or empty casings on the road. Like with so many other things in life I needed some help. I did exactly that and thankfully loud noises gradually became just that and not a threat to my life.

From here I basically got my head down and trained. I got plenty of things wrong like doing too much, going too hard or the opposite in some cases. I got sick, I got healthy again. I won my age in the Dean and Dave race triathlon which doubled as my birthday in April - my best one yet. I got a third in the 30-34 in the Port Half Ironman. I was starting to get fit again. I would wake up every morning throughout winter and be excited to get out training. It had taken on a whole new meaning. No longer was training about winning races (though this was on my mind). Training was food for my soul. I particularly loved the winter runs with the Blue Mountains Marathon Clinic (BMMC). At that time of the year we would stop and have a stretch at one of the lookouts on our run and see the sunrise over a chilly Sydney. We would then descend into the Nepean basin before returning up the escarpment to start another working day. This is why I now run and how I live the 'healthy mind, healthy body' mantra.

I am now less than 14 weeks from my first Ironman. I am training really well and resting when I need to. I have also managed to drop ego from my training as I keep my eyes firmly fixed on the prize. A couple of weeks ago I had a big week of training finishing up with a firm 110km lap of cobbity (bike obviously) on Saturday. In the afternoon we had the Matt Fisher race (unofficially now). It was my first one as I quit triathlons after he was fatally hit by a car out riding in 1998. I thought of him the whole race. I also felt how much pain I was in as the morning ride and week of hard training made it's way to my atherant senses. Man it hurt. Again I loved it. I got out for a 25km run the next morning and gave myself the afternoon off. The next week was also a good week of training before another solid weekend. Saturday started with a 110km easy bike with the fist, 10km run off bike and 3km bridge to bridge swim in the river. Sunday The fist and I rode the 160km loop which takes us to Bell and Mt Vic along Bells Line of Road. It is without doubt my favourite ride. It would want to be as we will be doing it every Sunday until the Ironman! I have also began to incorporate 'double run tuesday' into my program. It includes a 2hr+ run in the morning and a 1hour solid run in the afternoon. Talk about opening up your 'hurt locker'!

I have to go and meet the fist for a swim and ride now. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and remember 'dream, believe, create, succeed' - Marc Allen

Surrender

2009-12-15T02:01:00.000-08:00

I've had an amazing few weeks. In essence the last leg of my journey to IMoz has begun.... Today we are down to 14 weeks, 5 days and man they will fly (and hurt).

This post in titled 'Surrender'. So many of our words have negative connotations when in fact they mean something so wonderfully positive. An example is the word 'no' - learning to say it is perhaps the most positive and powerful thing a person can do. I sometimes I wish I had learnt to use it a long time ago; I would have prevented many hangovers! To surrender is to accept what it is you cannot change, or in some cases such as training for the ironman, to accept that this is my life and I want it. I first read about this in a book from south Asia titled 'surrender to your marriage'. By surrendering to things we cannot change we are better apt to take control of what we can. Simply put, I have surrendered to the next 15 weeks. I know that I have embarked on a trip of a lifetime. One I am sure will be a part of my DNA for the rest of my days. I have resigned to the fact that Christmas will probably be a lap of bell, a gatorade and a few gels to celebrate. This is my life now. The funny thing is, I have never felt more in control, healthier or happier. I think my life has become extremely simple - sleep, eat, train and work thrown-in for good measure. Incidently, I am enjoying my work more than ever.

Pictures: 'brothers in arms' the Flying Fist and The Animal on the way to Bundeena. (top) and Scam Bullant leading the way along one of the beach sections of the run.

A couple of weeks ago the last leg of this prep for IMoz began. It is hard to say exactly what day that actually was however I would like it to begin with a the BMMC day out - 29km run from Otford to Bundeena. It was extraudinary. Rugged cliffs, ocean, wildlife all within a coastal national park. On a beautiful day. Thanks for organising this Scam - you are truly the man when it comes to getting our group out and about. From there it (my training) has stepped up. A day out fishing after the run, with P Ryan and on Sunday we headed out for a 120k ride then a I went on a 15k run in the Glenbrook Nat park. The usual swims, BMMC runs and riding Laps of the Hakesbury bends with the Fist followed. Then last weekend perhaps the beginning of the end of feeling healthy! 160k lap of bell, 3k swim Saturday, 25k run and 110k ride on Sunday - man it was hot! Both rides with the Fist - He's riding well. It's good to have someone to go through this with. Much like the experience in India, this is a personal journey made better by being able to share it with someone.

I have truly surrendered to this. It made it easier to drag my butt to the pool this arvo.

'til death do we part

2009-12-03T01:45:00.000-08:00

The title ' 'til death do we part' is a common phrase used in marriage vows and it this concept of 'permanence' I seek to understand and maybe even challenge. I mean at what point were we told that anything is permanent? This is treading on Buddhist territory now but I do think there is some relevance in what it is I am about to discuss.

I completed the Port Half IM about a month ago and for a few weeks following I struggled both physically and emotionally to train. My knees would blow up, my ITB was tight and causing considerable pain, I had the pain of losing a toenail (another to follow soon). My motivation to keep going through this has been tested. I can say this has passed now and perhaps why I am now able to reflect on the last 4 weeks. Two things stand out for me at this point which have helped considerably in me getting my mojo back for training for IM Aus in 16 weeks and 3 days from now. The first comes from a conversation I had with an elderly couple in Coonabarrabran a few years ago. The second was from a vision I had while out training prior to the half IM.

I met the elderly couple the first time as I was leaving a one of my customer's surgery. We had a bit of a chat then but it wasn't until 12 weeks later when again I was leaving my customer's surgery and again I bumped into this couple did we have a long chat. I asked this obviously in love couple how they had a marriage which had survived many of life's tough events through out their 60 years of this institution. The wife quite candidly replied "we never fell out of love with each other at the same time". This was made so matter-of-fact and it didn't raise an eyebrow from her husband. I have had a few years to think about this comment, it's honesty and openness. Something that perhaps would only come from a couple of that vintage from the country. Either way I was able to learn so much from these people. I relate this to much of my life and through this that I have come to understand the concept of permanence. It has helped me to try to live more existentially. It has also helped me get through this 4 weeks where I have been tested. I may have been falling out of love with the thought of 20 more weeks of training. Fortunately the sport of triathlon, through my training buddies, panthers club members and the experience of nature endured and 'our marriage' survived. I am now physically recovered and motivated and ready for this part of the journey.

The second thing that helped me came from a vision I had. Before I explain the vision I need to give a little more background. Liv and I were only metres from the gunman in the terrorist attacks in Mumbai. The gunman stood up and after sitting in Cafe Leopold for about 10 minutes and proceeded to fire his automatic weapon at all that moved. Liv and I survived because we were on the outside of the cafe and we able to run and hide in a nearby stairwell. My mate and I had only been seconds from being the 2 guys looking for a seat. I have had to come to some understanding why we were not inside. Why someone else was the first person shot. Why we survived. I will never know the answer for certain however I do know why we were held up on the way to this place. A man in a wheel chair approached me while we were walking down a busy Mumbai street. I was pretty keen to get to the cafe and have a reprieve from the heat, the beggars, the crowds and more importantly, have a beer. I explained to this fella I couldn't help him but he persisted. 'I don't want money' he said. I looked at him he asked simply for some food. 'Of course I can' I replied before getting a chicken schwarma from a nearby street cook. This whole process took around 10 minutes. I remember his large, bright smile as he thanked me for his food. I felt a little embarrassed that it took him a few attempts; I am so glad he persisted with me. My buddy liv told me then and there that I had just earned a credit in heaven. How prophetic he was.

The vision I refer to happened one day during a really tough and long ride leading up to the half IM. I sometimes think about still. It was of this man sitting in his wheelchair, his smiling grateful face is exactly as I remembered it only this time he is with my Mum. They are both there together, healthy, happy and looking out for me. On the day I had this vision I needed some help as I was struggling. I now know that I have been getting this help for a long time. It was so needed on that awful night in Mumbai 12 months ago. I owe this man my life and he has no idea. Or just maybe, he does. This has truly helped me through the last 4 weeks.

I can't not train. I am alive, I am fit and I owe this to myself. The next 16 weeks are going to be quite a trip.

The First Hurdle

2009-11-04T22:58:00.000-08:00

What a week!

I have to admit that I was a little apprehensive before the Half Ironman last weekend. This was going to be my first chance to pop my head up for breath, recover and get a pulse check on how my transition from a rugby union forward to an ironman triathlete was progressing. We had a club race the week before and I felt pretty shattered before, during and for a good few days after. I knew I had to rest, I needed to listen to my body, something that I have only learnt with age. So I did just that. The week prior to Port I did very little in the way of training- a couple of runs, a swim and a ride. The remainder of the time was spent stretching and watching DVDs. I was so nervous for the whole week. My ITB was as tight as a guitar string, I just hoped that it would come good. It did.

We (Dr Phil and I) checked our bikes in and attended the pre-race briefing on Saturday along with the other 800 competitors. The sun was out, the mood was great and I was feeling fresh for the first time in ages. We then went back to our hotel had a small meal, watched the wallabies get trounced then slept. We were a little under 10 hours from the start of the 1.9km swim, 90.1km ride and 21.1 run. I forgot how alive I feel prior to a race. The 5am rides on the below zero, windy, rainy mornings throughout winter were for this and I loved it.

Everything went smoothly on race morning. The wettie felt like a second skin as we made our way down to the deep water start. I looked around at the other 800 bodies as they waved about to stay afloat before the gun went off, and I soaked up this moment. The last time I heard a gun was in a starkly different circumstance and it made me feel so unbelievably grateful to be there, my first (racing) hurdle for the big one in March. The swim was as busy and congested around the first buoy as I remember. It took a few whacks to my head and the swimming over of a few triatheletes that had mistakingly thought that self seeding meant getting a good start on their competition by putting themselves at the front, before we settled into a pace. Poor buggars.

I exited the water in a time I was expecting to do however I wasn't expecting to feel as good as what I did. I swam within myself and was more than ready for the ride. A quick transition (shoes in the right peddles this time!) and I was on the road. I reeled in one after another of the quicker swimmers and looked around and about 20 of them had managed to hang on by the 30km mark! I was feeling great, then it happened, the draft-buster rode his motorbike up to me and pointed a yellow card at me and asked if I understood what that meant. I pleaded ignorance, then swore, then accepted that I was spending 5 minutes in the penalty box before the next lap. I was so dirty with it. I wasn't drafting, never have. I had no choice but to keep going and surrender to my fate. With that I put my head down and dropped that group who later passed and waved as they spotted myself and 4 others in the box of shame (including BMMC's own Dr Phil!) This experience ended up being a good one for many reasons. Firstly I am glad that it happened in this, the dress rehearsal and not the full ironman in March. Secondly it was another reminder that things don't always go to plan, I would have to deal with this and get on with it. There was no point brooding over it. Lastly a little humour went a long way as I pointed out to the other 'detainees' that the 5 of us could get back together and ride down that bunch! I think the official circled my number on his pad at that point.

Once out of the clink I got back on with my race, this time was actually quite nice as I could get on riding without so many cyclists hanging on. Then before I knew it, it was T2 and time to run the half marathon. The temperature was rising as the numbers in front of me dropped away. One by one I again began the task of reeling in as many of the others who got a 5 minute advantage on me. I felt strong for the whole of the run. It was hot, it was hard and it hurt like hell, but I felt strong. Crossing the line in a time I had hoped for was great but even better was knowing that my metamorphasis was complete. I knew at this point that I was ready to start preparing for the big one in March.

The drinks after the race tasted sweet. I got a chance to catch up with some old friends I haven't seen since my last race 11 or 12 years ago. I also had a chance to be by myself and reflect on the last 12 months. I am deep in a journey, I am in recovery and I am so grateful to be here. Ironman Australia here I come.

The final moments of Mumbai and my prep for Ironman 70.3

2009-10-25T03:36:00.000-07:00

I thought I would start this post with the last moments of the attacks in Mumbai. In time the full story will play out, that is, what happened over there was just the beginning of something far greater personally. It was certainly a 'lightening rod moment', finishing one path and beginning another. This is a recount of the final moments of that path. I learnt a lot the last few hours in that hotel, about me, my family, my mate Liv. I guess in some way I knew at the time that this is what I went to India for. I mean, I was there to centre myself again only I expected this to happen in a far more peaceful way. This was my request to the universe and as always she provided.

Our lights were off, the doorway barricaded, the window ajar and the TV on without sound. We could hear the bombs going off and see the death tally rising on TV. We could also see that by now (about 2 or 3am) the terrorists had killed people at 12 different sites and were now only active in 3 hotels. We were less than 100m away from the Taj and could feel each of explosions however we felt for the time being, relatively safe. It was now that we thought it appropriate to consider how we were getting out of this place. We were quite literally in the middle of a war zone and the consulate, whilst very helpful, essentially said what we already knew- you guys know more than us and that they would try and get us out when they knew more.

We waited until it was about 5am(in Aus) to call home and let the family know what was going on. The first of quite a few quick phone calls was quite terrifying for my family I am sure, as I recounted what happened at Cafe Leopold then what was happening just nearby. I explained to my sister that while we were in the stairwell near the cafe I considered calling my family to tell them I love them. Part of me did question if we would make it out of there though the overwhelming feeling was that we would and perhaps this is why I didn't call. During each of the calls explosions continued outside and each time I could sense the fear my family had as they heard them at the other end of the line.

I finally got to speak to my Dad and he unintentionally, momentarily, reduced my sense of relative safety. I explained to him that we were barricaded in, he could hear the explosions and was watching it unfold at home, so I guess he wasn't thinking too straight. He went on to explain that the terrorists were using grenades to blow up the doors that they couldn't open before entering the rooms and killing the inhabitants. I could hear and feel the enormous concern in my Dad's voice, like the rest of my family. A few hours later we began the process of getting out of India - could we get tickets? Was the airport even open? Could we get to the airport (or out of our hotel) if it even was? There were a couple of light moments in this next part.

This experience that I continue to share is an important part of why I decided to train for and hopefully complete, an ironman triathlon. While we weren't in safety yet I knew that now my life was different. My concept of safety is now forever changed, we came within meters or seconds of being shot in the cafe. I realised at this very early point of my metamorphosis that we perhaps have been only seconds from death many times before and had no idea. How many times has a car swerved when they saw you in the last moment because the driver was checking the phone? How many times have you chosen to take a different route or were running late to something. Maybe the universe opened up a different door. It certainly happened to me in Mumbai, the difference this time was, I am fully aware of just how near we were to a violent end.

Knowing this, I now choose to live, not survive.

The good news on the training front, I have put together 2 really good weeks of training. The long rides have been strong, the running smooth and swimming consistent. I now have less than 7 days until the half ironman in Port and my first proper chance to freshen up. I am gonna love this week!

A little more on Mumbai

2009-10-12T01:15:00.000-07:00

Recovery from the tough week is almost complete. So much so that I am ready to do it all again. It is funny how the human mind so naturally forgets the bad times and paints a rosy picture on such times. I guess this is an important part of our evolution, I mean who would have a second child if they remember (fully) having the first one? We are a positive breed by nature which has ensured our survival as a species. It may not work that way for me if I keep forgetting what 'too much' looks like.
It took a long time for me to get over what happened in Mumbai - which I will touch on again in a moment - but I really want to get back there and finish off the trip I started almost a year ago. I guess that is also true for my return to the sport of triathlon. I've been hit by 2 cars and somehow, over time, it hardly seems real. If I remembered fully, the experience, then there would be no chance of me getting back out there. There you go, gotta love that human spirit. It is an innate quality we all share.
Liv and I had made it back to our hotel room after hearing the explosion nearby. There was clearly something big going on in Mumbai and it was almost as though it was following us, or we were following it. The news on the TV were only early accounts but they did point out that Mumbai was under attack from terrorists and that it appeared that the targets were The English and Americans - my English passport was on me which added to my own situation. We heard many explosions, some much louder than others, then only a few moments later the news would report them. It was clear we were in for a long night.
There is a light moment that happened about now in the story. When we ran upstairs after the first bomb went off we naturally left without our meals and beers. Clearly oblivious to the gravity of the situation, a young Indian fella knocked on our door and brought in the food and beer we left behind. Then waited around until Liv and I could pony up the dough to cover it. It is something that still brings a little laugh when Liv and I recount it.
The news on the TV was getting much worse as it filtered in from around the city and as it happened. Gradually it was emerging that there were many sites that the terrorists had targeted and that there was no end in sight. The explosions we enormous and each one made made us accutely aware that we needed to do something other than sit a be a possible target. There wasn't much we could do other than turn the lights off and barracade up our room. We pushed furniture up against the door and jammed it against the opposite wall.
We then could only sit out the night and mentally prepare for the worst. Our fear was that our hotel would be next and we were sitting ducks.

One Tough Week

2009-10-05T23:13:00.000-07:00

Mostly, powerful intrinsic motivation serves to help in the achieving of a goal like preparing for an ironman. It has helped me train through a cold dark winter. It also helped me lose the 26kg I have lost and get through the early part of my return to the sport when my knees, elbows and shoulders hurt. Intrinisic motivation makes a comeback to triathlon feel like no motivation at all is required. I can now blame it for my toughest week yet, and it wasn't from the number of k's I did. A week ago I had my day of hell a couple of days after a club race. The difference to other hard days was the intensity. It has been picked up but I didn't reduce my miles or add in more rest. The result: halfway into a main set in the pool I pulled up, unable physically or emotionally to continue. I was shattered and remained in that state until now, 3 days later.

Early signs of over training were all there and I chose to push through and it has cost me a week of effective training. I am glad that I have been preparing for the 70.3 as though it is the big one in March, Much like a full dress rehearsal. A good thing too as I can no add over-training to putting shoes in the wrong peddles on a race day to my list of screw-ups.

My symptoms of over-training I ignored until to late:

Shitty mood - everything and everyone was annoying me. ( this also happens without training sometimes!)
Unable to sleep despite being exhausted
Gastric (upper and lower) disturbance
Big changes in diet and cravings.
Severe muscle pain - my legs particularly hurt like never before.
Swim times were much slower despite effort.

By the time I realised it was time to back off I could hardly walk or hold a conversation. We all have a barometer. I just need to pay attention to mine.

T minus 4 weeks.

2009-10-02T02:46:00.001-07:00

The Port Macquarie half ironman (or ironman 70.3 as other parts of the world may know it) is fast aproaching. This will be my first big hitout since my return to the sport after 11 years off, sidetracked by rugby union. I can't wait! 4 weeks last Sunday and I'm now down to the last of the training micro cycles.

My return to triathlon started (properly) in late December of '08 after I got back from India and the UK. In that time have lost about 2okg, ridden about 5000km and I've swum and run many countless km. This last week, like so many before was no different, however it has left me pretty shattered. I hope I can freshen up a little so I can take advantage of a few days off this weekend.

Last Sunday was to be the first Triathlon on the Panthers tri club calender. That clearly was weather dependent and as it turned out the weather did what it so often does in Spring, a complete u-turn on the weeks prior. 80km/h wind and an air temperature of about 10C demanded a change to the race format. We Aussies find it difficult to compete in weather normally reserved for our Northern Hemisphere friends. And so after a vote, we raced a duathlon. The non-swimmers in the group have another month reprieve. It was a battle I must say, and I soon found myself in a world of hurt with the start of the race being a 5km run. They hurt so much more than triathlons. It was good hit-out and I got a chance to screw-up in a race that wasn't too important. Note to self - put shoes in the correct peddles. Damn that was embarrassing!

Wednesday again was another mid-week day of hell. Dr Phill joined me for 4 1/2 km swim, 100 km ride amd 10 km track session. The day previous we had a farewell run for Sleep Train as he headed of to Austria to compete in the world mountain running champs- Scam even graced the official BMMC run with his presence. Good luck Sleep! It is great to see you in such a purple patch.

I am so grateful for my chance to rediscover this sport. It was such a large part of my life until a friend of mine was killed out riding on the M4 in Sydney's west in 1998. That morning I got a phone call about the accident and I never rode again until recently. It took my experience in India to learn that surviving ain't living and vowed to never again fall into that trap.

Liv and I had made our way out of the stairwell in Mumbai and were making our way to our hotel. We still had very little idea what was going on. As far as we could make out someone had gone crazy in the cafe; it turned out to be so much more. We ran towards our hotel on Mumbai harbour before someone yelled out to us not to continue as there had some been some shots fired down near the harbour. We were running from one massacre to another. What the hell is going on? We took a back way to our hotel, which by now was in lock-down. The guards at gate let us in, we sat down shaken, and in a state of shock - and ordered a beer. We still had very little idea about the gravity of the situation we were in the thick of and so one could excuse us for thinking that it was appropriate to have a beer and sit, behind the locked gates, and take stock of what just happened. Then 'BOOM', a bomb went off nearby and again, we ran. This time upstairs and inside to our room. We put on the TV and then the stark realisation that we were f***ed.

Installment #2 of M2PM

2009-09-23T02:10:00.000-07:00

I had one of my designated mid-week days from hell during the week. Thanks to a very forward thinking company I am able to get some extra leave throughout the year and I have decided to take them for the purpose of creating a mid week hell. I awoke on the day of hell to a dull red light and thought that the big fella upstairs was also deciding to chip in. He did just that and in a big way as the Blue Mountains was blanketed in a layer of dust whipped up off a parched inland of NSW. Rather poignant I thought considering it was a day from hell last November which was largely the reason I was taking Wednesday off to train.

I got through my swim session and figured a combination of gale force winds, a blanket of dust in the air and a deep fatigue was as good enough of a reason as any for a midday snooze and DVD (Into the Wild - a favourite movie of mine). I got my track session done in the arvo with Dr Phil and the Flying Welshman - 5 x 1 mile - loved the head wind up the main straight (and the colour of my cough - sorry)

In between sleeping and watching Into the Wild I reflected on the the Mumbai terrorist attacks. These 2 things for me are linked. In November of last year I had decided to take a break from civilisation as I knew it and experience the assault on my senses that India provides. The 2 years previous had been my hardest so far and had taken me to what I thought was my emotional limit. I needed some time out. On a balmy, busy evening my good friend Liv and I were heading back to 'Cafe Leopold' for the second night running. This place was a temporary sanctuary for a Westerner needing cold beer and an a brief reprieve from the unfamiliar chaos and mass of humanity that is Mumbai. The next day we were heading off to Delhi so a night of celebrating our time in Mumbai and India so far was in order.

We were only metres from the cafe when we heard what sounded like fire crackers before the normally chaotic street- like many in South Asian cities - became a frightend mass of humanity running for their lives. Inside the cafe someone had pulled out an automatic weapon and was firing on everyone in the place. Liv and I turned and ran up into a stairwell while the street scene played out below. We had unintentionally ran into a trap. We could hear people locking their doors, doors that may have been able to get us out of the stairwell and into relative safety. Now we could only sit and watch through the doorway below and listen as the gun-fire continued. It would stop and start - rapid bursts of gunfire then someone yelling in a language I was unfamiliar with in between these bursts. We were now trapped and at the mercy of the universe.

Eventually the gun-fire ceased and through the open doorway below I could see the looters rushing in and filling bags and what ever else they could use with the goods that only minutes before were being sold by street hawkers and merchants. They rushed in and then out before a relative calm. I spotted what I thought were 3 soldiers standing at the entrance to our stairwell. I looked at Liv and we both knew it was now or never. We edged out door, made eye contact with these 3 men who appeared most surprised to see 2 foreigners making their way out. We ran, keeping low. By now there were some police in the area and some survivors were making their way out. I remember seeing a man carrying a bloodied child in his arms. He was yelling and whaling as he rushed in the same direction as us. It reminded me of so many of the scenes I have seen on TV.

Little did Liv and I know that this was the beginning of a 24 hour hell for us though this period was the most graphic.

This was the first part of the death of the old Tim.

From Mumbai to Port Mac - The Journey begins...

2009-09-22T03:55:00.000-07:00

Hi and thanks for having a look at my blog. If you are reading this it is likely that you fall in to one of two categorories - one of the inner circle of the world famous BMMC or BIS or you have randomly stumbled across this page and you are possibly regretting it now. Either way I urge you to get a life and read useful and insightful blogs rather than this wish wash account of a 'would've been if he coud've been'.

The title of my blog 'From Mumbai to Port Mac - the journey begins' carries considerable bearing in my life and it is this sojourn that I find myself deep within. It really is only a single chapter of the broader journey 'The West Bank - the right side of the Nepean (if you're facing south)', but more about that later.

About a week ago I finshed off a tough ride with Dr Phil (~155km) on the Saturday, a long run through the Glenbrook National Park (~30km) on the Sunday (before another ride in the arvo). I had plenty of time to reflect on the personal sojourn from India to that point in time. How was it that I came to this, spending all my spare and some not so spare time on preparing for my first assault on Australia's premier ironman triathlon in March of next year? Afterall it wasn't that long ago that I was a 106kg rugby union forward playing for the Blueys in the Sydney suburban competition. There has been a dramatic change in the course of my life. One that is indellible in it's impression and which has ultimately led me to this ambitous goal.

I have so many people to thank before I can continue, for without each of you my journey to Port would not be.... and possibly neither would I. I also feel this is important to gain some credit before I trash talk each of you!

Dad, V and Al my eccelectic and vivacious family, My Ma (Jah bless), Sleep, Scam, Dr Phil, Tubby Kiwi, Gargers, P Ryan and all my other motivated training buddies - thanks for keeping it real. CT and Liv - you guys saved me. J and CEW, D Heke and all my other long suthering friends - jah bless and thanks for your perserverance with me.

Ce'st finite for my premier blog. I hope you come back some time - Port Mac you are T minus 5 months and 6 days.

The Journey Begins

2009-06-07T04:35:00.000-07:00