Saturday, Barry Bonds tied what has been called the most hallowed record in sports history. Against the team that had given up more of his home runs than any other, Bonds blasted his 755th home run to left-center field in Petco Park in the 2nd inning against Clay Hensley. Although Bonds has a mountain of circumstantial evidence pointing to use of performance enhancing drugs, he has vehemently denied knowingly taking steroids and thus far his tests have been clean. In a twist of irony, Hensley in fact was suspended 15 games in April 2005 for steroid use as a minor leaguer. Commissioner Bud Selig was on hand to witness the historic home run and responded with disgrace. Bud was asked to stand up, and grudgingly did so and pointedly thrust his hands into his pockets without a hint of applause, exhibiting his displeasure with an unsurprising passive-aggressive gesture.
As this event comes to a climax in the next few games when Barry hits his 756th home run to overtake Henry Aaron, the talking heads and pundits that typically write about these things will take umbrage that such a hallowed record can be surpassed in a cloud of suspicion. You will hear much about asterisks, steroid fueled recovery, the reaction of the commissioner, the reaction of Homerin Hank, the stuffy baseball writers debating whether or not Barry should go to the Hall of Fame, but what you will not hear is a tribute to the greatest baseball player ever, Barry Bonds. I want to pay a meager tribute to him now. Meager because I am no one anyone in baseball will take seriously, not because of the man I want to honor.
I must preface by declaring that I am a San Francisco Giants fan and have been since I was a young boy watching games in chilly Candlestick Park. I will not dazzle you with statistical knowledge because I don’t have any, but I do know that Barry Bonds is the most feared hitter in his lifetime, possibly ever. He has been walked, intentionally or not, more times than I have ever seen. I also know that he is confident and doesn’t have much patience for the media. I don’t know how much patience I would have if I were hounded day in and day out either. He could even be described as moody, surly, and temperamental, as many of us can be described on occasion. Does he have his faults? Of course. Does he seem a bit immature at times? Yes, but again, how many grown men do you know that don’t act immature at times? Barry should be every mans hero, but he isn’t. Why not?
The easy, although I say the incorrect answer, is suspected steroid use. The cry of “he cheated!” resonates, but as a society do we really care about cheating? Cheating is rampant in this nation, from college exams to shady business deals. This does not excuse it, but softens the issue for many. When San Diego Chargers linebacker Shawne Merriman was suspended for 4 weeks last season for steroid use, the only negativity expressed was because fans couldn’t wait for him to return to the field. And what really constitutes a performance-enhancing drug? Only recently “greenies” were outlawed (and also until recently it wasn’t again baseball rules to use steroids), the amphetamines many ball players, including a great like Mike Schmidt, would take to get through a double header and they were arguable enhancing performance. What about the cortisone shot Kurt Gibson got just before his famous home run in the playoffs years ago. If that drug didn’t “enhance performance” by allowing him to walk to the plate when he previously wasn’t able to, then I don’t know what performance enhancing is. The feigned outrage expressed is said to be about cheating and about steroids, but if you really get down to it, it is neither of these reasons. The bottom line is people don’t like Barry Bonds and are vilifying him. He is being used as a scapegoat for the rampant use of steroids by many baseball players, but this is not because people are upset with steroid use; it is a convenient way to express displeasure with the man many don’t like who is breaking the most hallowed record in sports. This man is overtaking Henry Aaron, who in contrast is a man who was and is beloved by many. Suspicion of steroids just gives people an outlet for expressing their dislike of a grumpy ball player that lacks universal appeal.
I say celebrate Barry Bonds and his accomplishments. He is an amazing baseball player and it has been a great time to be a Giants fan. He has carried my team for so long and done so many wonderful things. I like Barry Bonds. We’ve been privileged to witness one of the best baseball players ever to play to the game during these past 20 years and it will sadly soon come to an end. Thank you Barry.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Mormons = Christians?
Saw a disturbing documentary this weekend entitled “Jesus Camp”. Seeing this reminded me of something that has been on my mind for ages. I spent the last few years of my childhood and the whole of my teenage experience in Clovis, a California suburb near Fresno. I always knew that my religion set me apart. I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, which is commonly known as the Mormon Church. I was born into the church and have attended nearly every Sunday my entire life. I know that as a child, both at home and at church, I was taught that I am a child of God, that we should follow the golden rule, and that God loved us so much that He sent His Son to die for us. I learned all about the life of Jesus Christ, including His miraculous conception and humble birth in Bethlehem, the beginning of His ministry at age 12 in the temple, His baptism by John the Baptist, His temptations in the wilderness, His parables and teachings, and culminating with His suffering for our sins in Gethsemane and cruel death on the cross at Golgotha. Not only did I believe in Christ, but I knew about Him and His life and I loved Him. I had been taught these things and others for as long as I can recall. This is perhaps why the experiences I’m going to relate next had such an impact on me.
When I was a freshman in high school, I was playing on the high school water polo team. I saw an advertisement for an organization called the Fellowship of Christian Athletes and noticed that they were going to have a meeting and would be serving lunch. Now, as most growing 14-year-old young men, I was always up for a free lunch. I also thought it was cool that there were other athletes who knew about Christ, for most of my teammates didn’t seem too excited about following the standards that I been taught to follow. I really thought this would be a great thing for me to meet some people who shared my beliefs and my standards who were also athletes. I walked in the door and was quickly greeted by some smiles and kind words. As a freshman at a large high school, this is a rare and cherished experience. What sport did I play? Are you hungry, the food is over here. Eventually came the, “Which church do you go to?” My answer, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.” This answer, as usual, was met with blank stares, to which I quickly added, “I’m a Mormon.” Silence. Not a quiet reverence, but something colder, almost hateful. Then the remarks, “Mormons aren’t Christian. What are you doing here?” and “You don’t worship Jesus, but some guy who was a treasure hunter.” also “You don’t believe in the Bible cause you’ve got your own.” These were not questions but statements, and they were not accompanied by the smiles and kind tones that had greeted me moments earlier. These were accusations that I was different, I didn’t belong with them, and I wasn’t welcome. For the first time that I can remember, I felt discriminated against. I was not wanted simply for what my religion is. These people didn’t know me at all, all they knew was that I was a Mormon and that was a good enough reason to quickly change from kindness to cruelty.
As a 14-year-old, I was struggling with many things internally. I had grown 8 inches in a year and was lanky and a bit awkward. I had minor acne issues. I had loving parents and a great family, but at 14, instead of turning to them for strength, I had everything figured out already, at least I thought I did. I didn’t share problems with anyone when I had them; I still don’t for that matter, but prefer to deal with them internally. I was a bright kid. I could figure anything out. This is a product of a quick mind and fierce independence, traits that are both genetic and have been ingrained in me since my birth. Now, my religion, my very soul, was the subject of ridicule at the hands of some “Christian” athletes. I soon came to realize that my high school was full of “Christians” who, once they found out I was Mormon, immediately went into attack mode, like I was the product of something evil and must be shot down. I didn’t handle this very well. Instead of being proud of what I was and sticking close to the religion that at the time I held dear, I distanced myself. I found myself telling others, when religion came up, that I was a Christian in order to avoid the attack. I tried hard to not let others know that I was a Mormon. I was doing exactly the opposite of what I had been taught – I was ashamed of who I was and what I believed in (Romans 1:16).
In spite of this, my high school experience was pretty good in most aspects. I ended up with decent grades and good SAT/ACT scores, good enough to earn me academic scholarships to several schools. I became captain of the water polo team and played in the valley all-star game as a senior. I found that I have a knack for math, science, and photography. I had several girlfriends and enjoyed going to winter formals and proms. All aspects of my life were good, except for the religious things that I had been neglecting since my freshman year to avoid discrimination and ridicule. This neglect was internal in its nature, as I continued to attend church with my family every Sunday and even managed to attend the high school scripture-study course every morning before 1st period. All of this I did in action only. My heart was far from it. I had distanced myself from these things. I still managed to live the standards that I had been taught, mainly because most of them seemed logical to me. I’d seen enough drunk friends passing out and vomiting everywhere to not have any desire to drink. Being kind always seemed like the right thing to do, and though I wasn’t a saint, I was a pretty nice kid most of the time. The one standard that was tough for me was morality, but I didn’t have a steady girlfriend long enough to be too tempted to have sex either. I had been taught to save sexual relations for marriage and luckily ended up doing so. I firmly believe that the reason I didn’t ever have the opportunity is because I wouldn’t have been able to resist it (1 Corinthians 10:13).
My senior year of high school, the subject of our early morning classes was the life and teachings of Jesus Christ and His apostles, namely the New Testament. I wanted to know – am I Christian? Well, I believe in Christ. I believe He died to save us from our sins. He set a perfect example about how to live. Why wasn’t I Christian? What exactly was the definition of being a Christian? I looked it up. Here’s what Webster says: Christian – a person who has received Christian baptism or believes in Jesus Christ or his teachings. Well, I had been baptized when I was 8 and believed in Jesus Christ and His teachings. According to Webster, I qualified. Why didn’t I qualify in the eyes of many of my peers at school? I researched this problem further and came to a realization. In their eyes, I wasn’t a Christian because my understanding of the nature of Jesus Christ mainly, and some of his teachings, are so different than their own. I believe in the version of Jesus Christ from the New Testament. He was born of Mary, but begotten of God the Father. Somehow, Mary became pregnant with baby Jesus. He has a mortal mother and an immortal perfect father, who is God the Father. This gave him power over death, but the important quality of being able to die if he so dictated. This also means to me that God the Father and Jesus Christ are separate and distinct personages. This was manifest also at the baptism of Christ, when he had come up out of the water, the voice of the Father was heard declaring that He was pleased. Jesus Christ was killed on the cross at Golgotha, and three days later he rose again, a perfect, immortal being. He showed Himself to many people. He ate food and people touched him – in short, He had a physical body. Eventually, he ascended into Heaven to join His Father. He did not leave His body here – it went with him. This is the Jesus Christ I know and love. This is not the Jesus Christ that “Christians” worship. I don’t know exactly how to describe what they believe Jesus Christ is, but I know it is different than my view. Our differences are doctrinal, but most of the things Jesus Christ taught we all believe in. I still don’t understand where the hate comes from. Actually, I have a strong suspicion where this malice is rooted.
Since my time in high school, I’ve served a mission for my church. I lived in Southern Africa for two years preaching about Jesus Christ. I have become fully converted to my religion by following the teachings of James 1:5 and John 14:26, where I asked God by prayer whether the things I had been taught were correct. I received an answer by the Comforter that in fact what I had learned is true.
I live in Miami now, so I don’t encounter many “Christians”. Miami is very Catholic, Jewish and atheist. Seeing Jesus Camp this last weekend reminded me of the experiences I had when I was younger and it was not pleasant. I’m happy to be here where although I’m still in the religious minority, I’m not persecuted or discriminated against. When people find out here I’m Mormon, the comments and questions I get are never mean spirited. People are curious and kind. They are very tolerant and accepting of others beliefs. Living in Miami has taught me many things. I’m not only in the religious minority, but there are not many tall, non-Spanish speaking men of European descent here either. I have become a more tolerant and loving person as a result. My empathy for others has increased. I have experienced diverse cultures, customs, and food and have been richly rewarded. In sum, I have become more like the Man I wish to emulate, more full of love. If I could only use one word to describe Jesus Christ it would be love. That is what He is. That is what He promises. That is what I’m striving to become. That is not what I felt when dealing with “Christians” in my past or what I felt when watching Jesus Camp. I do not refer to myself as a “Christian” anymore. I want to dissociate myself as far from that group as possible. I declare proudly that I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I’m a Mormon.
When I was a freshman in high school, I was playing on the high school water polo team. I saw an advertisement for an organization called the Fellowship of Christian Athletes and noticed that they were going to have a meeting and would be serving lunch. Now, as most growing 14-year-old young men, I was always up for a free lunch. I also thought it was cool that there were other athletes who knew about Christ, for most of my teammates didn’t seem too excited about following the standards that I been taught to follow. I really thought this would be a great thing for me to meet some people who shared my beliefs and my standards who were also athletes. I walked in the door and was quickly greeted by some smiles and kind words. As a freshman at a large high school, this is a rare and cherished experience. What sport did I play? Are you hungry, the food is over here. Eventually came the, “Which church do you go to?” My answer, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.” This answer, as usual, was met with blank stares, to which I quickly added, “I’m a Mormon.” Silence. Not a quiet reverence, but something colder, almost hateful. Then the remarks, “Mormons aren’t Christian. What are you doing here?” and “You don’t worship Jesus, but some guy who was a treasure hunter.” also “You don’t believe in the Bible cause you’ve got your own.” These were not questions but statements, and they were not accompanied by the smiles and kind tones that had greeted me moments earlier. These were accusations that I was different, I didn’t belong with them, and I wasn’t welcome. For the first time that I can remember, I felt discriminated against. I was not wanted simply for what my religion is. These people didn’t know me at all, all they knew was that I was a Mormon and that was a good enough reason to quickly change from kindness to cruelty.
As a 14-year-old, I was struggling with many things internally. I had grown 8 inches in a year and was lanky and a bit awkward. I had minor acne issues. I had loving parents and a great family, but at 14, instead of turning to them for strength, I had everything figured out already, at least I thought I did. I didn’t share problems with anyone when I had them; I still don’t for that matter, but prefer to deal with them internally. I was a bright kid. I could figure anything out. This is a product of a quick mind and fierce independence, traits that are both genetic and have been ingrained in me since my birth. Now, my religion, my very soul, was the subject of ridicule at the hands of some “Christian” athletes. I soon came to realize that my high school was full of “Christians” who, once they found out I was Mormon, immediately went into attack mode, like I was the product of something evil and must be shot down. I didn’t handle this very well. Instead of being proud of what I was and sticking close to the religion that at the time I held dear, I distanced myself. I found myself telling others, when religion came up, that I was a Christian in order to avoid the attack. I tried hard to not let others know that I was a Mormon. I was doing exactly the opposite of what I had been taught – I was ashamed of who I was and what I believed in (Romans 1:16).
In spite of this, my high school experience was pretty good in most aspects. I ended up with decent grades and good SAT/ACT scores, good enough to earn me academic scholarships to several schools. I became captain of the water polo team and played in the valley all-star game as a senior. I found that I have a knack for math, science, and photography. I had several girlfriends and enjoyed going to winter formals and proms. All aspects of my life were good, except for the religious things that I had been neglecting since my freshman year to avoid discrimination and ridicule. This neglect was internal in its nature, as I continued to attend church with my family every Sunday and even managed to attend the high school scripture-study course every morning before 1st period. All of this I did in action only. My heart was far from it. I had distanced myself from these things. I still managed to live the standards that I had been taught, mainly because most of them seemed logical to me. I’d seen enough drunk friends passing out and vomiting everywhere to not have any desire to drink. Being kind always seemed like the right thing to do, and though I wasn’t a saint, I was a pretty nice kid most of the time. The one standard that was tough for me was morality, but I didn’t have a steady girlfriend long enough to be too tempted to have sex either. I had been taught to save sexual relations for marriage and luckily ended up doing so. I firmly believe that the reason I didn’t ever have the opportunity is because I wouldn’t have been able to resist it (1 Corinthians 10:13).
My senior year of high school, the subject of our early morning classes was the life and teachings of Jesus Christ and His apostles, namely the New Testament. I wanted to know – am I Christian? Well, I believe in Christ. I believe He died to save us from our sins. He set a perfect example about how to live. Why wasn’t I Christian? What exactly was the definition of being a Christian? I looked it up. Here’s what Webster says: Christian – a person who has received Christian baptism or believes in Jesus Christ or his teachings. Well, I had been baptized when I was 8 and believed in Jesus Christ and His teachings. According to Webster, I qualified. Why didn’t I qualify in the eyes of many of my peers at school? I researched this problem further and came to a realization. In their eyes, I wasn’t a Christian because my understanding of the nature of Jesus Christ mainly, and some of his teachings, are so different than their own. I believe in the version of Jesus Christ from the New Testament. He was born of Mary, but begotten of God the Father. Somehow, Mary became pregnant with baby Jesus. He has a mortal mother and an immortal perfect father, who is God the Father. This gave him power over death, but the important quality of being able to die if he so dictated. This also means to me that God the Father and Jesus Christ are separate and distinct personages. This was manifest also at the baptism of Christ, when he had come up out of the water, the voice of the Father was heard declaring that He was pleased. Jesus Christ was killed on the cross at Golgotha, and three days later he rose again, a perfect, immortal being. He showed Himself to many people. He ate food and people touched him – in short, He had a physical body. Eventually, he ascended into Heaven to join His Father. He did not leave His body here – it went with him. This is the Jesus Christ I know and love. This is not the Jesus Christ that “Christians” worship. I don’t know exactly how to describe what they believe Jesus Christ is, but I know it is different than my view. Our differences are doctrinal, but most of the things Jesus Christ taught we all believe in. I still don’t understand where the hate comes from. Actually, I have a strong suspicion where this malice is rooted.
Since my time in high school, I’ve served a mission for my church. I lived in Southern Africa for two years preaching about Jesus Christ. I have become fully converted to my religion by following the teachings of James 1:5 and John 14:26, where I asked God by prayer whether the things I had been taught were correct. I received an answer by the Comforter that in fact what I had learned is true.
I live in Miami now, so I don’t encounter many “Christians”. Miami is very Catholic, Jewish and atheist. Seeing Jesus Camp this last weekend reminded me of the experiences I had when I was younger and it was not pleasant. I’m happy to be here where although I’m still in the religious minority, I’m not persecuted or discriminated against. When people find out here I’m Mormon, the comments and questions I get are never mean spirited. People are curious and kind. They are very tolerant and accepting of others beliefs. Living in Miami has taught me many things. I’m not only in the religious minority, but there are not many tall, non-Spanish speaking men of European descent here either. I have become a more tolerant and loving person as a result. My empathy for others has increased. I have experienced diverse cultures, customs, and food and have been richly rewarded. In sum, I have become more like the Man I wish to emulate, more full of love. If I could only use one word to describe Jesus Christ it would be love. That is what He is. That is what He promises. That is what I’m striving to become. That is not what I felt when dealing with “Christians” in my past or what I felt when watching Jesus Camp. I do not refer to myself as a “Christian” anymore. I want to dissociate myself as far from that group as possible. I declare proudly that I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I’m a Mormon.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Happy 4th of July!
Happy Independence Day! This is one of my favorite holidays of the year. I love meeting in the morning for a breakfast with friends. I love spending the afternoon swimming and enjoying family. I love lighting the fireworks you can purchase and then gathering on a blanket to watch a professional fireworks display. I love the music celebrating this great nation. And I love this country.
For two years of my life, I lived outside of the United States of America. You’ve heard the expression that you don’t truly appreciate family until you’ve lived away from them and I can say the same thing about America. I can also say that living here in Miami is more like living out of the country than in it. Every time I visit somewhere besides Miami, even a place as close as Ft. Lauderdale, I am reminded how much I love America and can’t wait to move back.
The United States provides opportunities to speak your mind about nearly every issue without fear of being thrown into prison or killed. You can go on national TV and criticize the job the President is doing and you will not be punished, and may be celebrated depending on the President. Freedom of speech is guaranteed, regardless of how offensive it can be to certain groups. When discussing something my father and I had heard that was offensive, my father said, “We may not agreed with that, but should be willing to die to protect his right to say it.”
I am very grateful for the freedom of religion, one of the tenets upon which this country was founded. As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (the Mormon Church), I have found that this freedom doesn’t necessarily mean freedom from persecution. Now, the government is not supposed to favor any religion above another, or above no religion at all, and I have not been subject to this form of persecution. Persecution by members of different religions, on the other hand, has been plentiful, both for me individually and the church collectively. In fact, I would say that throughout the history of this country, our church has been one of the most persecuted. Typically, this comes at the hands of “Christians” as I’ll generically label the disparate protestant sects and is generally on points of doctrine that we differ, not necessarily moral values. In recent years, many Mormons have united with “Christians” on moral issues, especially politically, to elect representatives that will use government to uphold values that we find to be not just important, but vital to the continued prosperity of this great nation. This unification to gain political power seems to be a one-way street. The “Christians” are happy to get our votes for their candidate(s), but be damned if they’re going to vote of one of ours.
I’m thankful that I can walk down the street reading what I wish, that I can choose any career that suits me, and then change it on a whim whenever I feel like it. I’m happy that I may one day own a part of this nation, that my children can grow up here away from the pain and turmoil that faces so much of the world. I’m thankful for a political process that never focuses too much power in one area, that respects privacy, and that would rather let a hundred guilty men walk free than imprison one innocent one. Freedom is a special thing that many of us take for granted. In the immortal words of a classic song, I will conclude – “I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free. And I won’t forget the men who died who gave that right to me. And I’ll gladly stand up next to you to defend Her still today. ‘Cause there aint no doubt I love this land, God bless the USA.”
For two years of my life, I lived outside of the United States of America. You’ve heard the expression that you don’t truly appreciate family until you’ve lived away from them and I can say the same thing about America. I can also say that living here in Miami is more like living out of the country than in it. Every time I visit somewhere besides Miami, even a place as close as Ft. Lauderdale, I am reminded how much I love America and can’t wait to move back.
The United States provides opportunities to speak your mind about nearly every issue without fear of being thrown into prison or killed. You can go on national TV and criticize the job the President is doing and you will not be punished, and may be celebrated depending on the President. Freedom of speech is guaranteed, regardless of how offensive it can be to certain groups. When discussing something my father and I had heard that was offensive, my father said, “We may not agreed with that, but should be willing to die to protect his right to say it.”
I am very grateful for the freedom of religion, one of the tenets upon which this country was founded. As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (the Mormon Church), I have found that this freedom doesn’t necessarily mean freedom from persecution. Now, the government is not supposed to favor any religion above another, or above no religion at all, and I have not been subject to this form of persecution. Persecution by members of different religions, on the other hand, has been plentiful, both for me individually and the church collectively. In fact, I would say that throughout the history of this country, our church has been one of the most persecuted. Typically, this comes at the hands of “Christians” as I’ll generically label the disparate protestant sects and is generally on points of doctrine that we differ, not necessarily moral values. In recent years, many Mormons have united with “Christians” on moral issues, especially politically, to elect representatives that will use government to uphold values that we find to be not just important, but vital to the continued prosperity of this great nation. This unification to gain political power seems to be a one-way street. The “Christians” are happy to get our votes for their candidate(s), but be damned if they’re going to vote of one of ours.
I’m thankful that I can walk down the street reading what I wish, that I can choose any career that suits me, and then change it on a whim whenever I feel like it. I’m happy that I may one day own a part of this nation, that my children can grow up here away from the pain and turmoil that faces so much of the world. I’m thankful for a political process that never focuses too much power in one area, that respects privacy, and that would rather let a hundred guilty men walk free than imprison one innocent one. Freedom is a special thing that many of us take for granted. In the immortal words of a classic song, I will conclude – “I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free. And I won’t forget the men who died who gave that right to me. And I’ll gladly stand up next to you to defend Her still today. ‘Cause there aint no doubt I love this land, God bless the USA.”
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
I got a trophy and an NBA wrap
First off, the great news. I competed in a sprint-distance triathlon (1/4 mile swim, 12 mile bike, 3 mile run) a few weeks ago and placed 3rd in my age group, and so doing received the first trophy of my adult life. That was really cool and I enjoyed it more than I imagined I would. I really enjoy the smaller triathlons, but I came away from the big one that I did unfulfilled, so I'm doing another 1/2 ironman (1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, 13.1 mile run). Throughout the run of the 1/2 ironman I did in March, I was upset at myself for not training properly. I could have done better than I did. My training, nutrition, overall health, and aerobic fitness needed improvement. This time around, I'm building a solid cardiovascular base. I bought my first heart-rate monitor and I've been training with it, ala Dr. Maffetone. It's really quite interesting - to monitor progress, you run a specific distance (in my case 5 miles) at a predetermined heart rate (again, for me 148 BPM - you get this by subtracting your age from 180). You do this every three weeks. If you're training properly, your time should go down with each test as your body slowly starts to work more efficiently at a lower heart rate, thus allowing you to speed up a bit and still not break the 148 barrier from aerobic to anaerobic training. For the next two months, I've got to do a lot of running, cycling, and swimming, but I can't go over my threshold. The 148 BPM is run specific - take 10 off for the bike and another 10 for the swim. After the two month building phase, I can only break through to anaerobic levels for less than 10% of my total training time, allowing me to maintain my aerobic base but also allowing some race-specific work. My training is dramatically different than what it was before. I found out that I've been running too fast, but swimming and biking too slow. I've increased my mileage, but I feel much better. So far, I'm pleasantly surprised with my new regiment. Where I really struggle is my nutrition. I like eating fatty foods. I love red meat. I love ice cream. I really like soda. These are not ideal triathlon training food items. I try to avoid them, but sometimes I just need to go to Outback and enjoy a Bloomin' Onion, a Ribeye, a warm brownie, all washed down with an ice-cold Coke. My diet has improved immensely over the past few years, but I don't see myself ever giving up these things entirely. Plus, I'm not a professional triathlete, just some former swimmer who enjoys being in shape and participating in triathlons.
The NBA finals are over and like I predicted, the Spurs are world champions. See what I meant about knocking the Suns around? That's all you need to do to beat them. The Cavs? Please. They are horrible and wouldn't have gotten out of the first round in the west. My attention now jumps to this off-season where it is becoming more likely that Kobe Bryant will not be a Laker much longer. This is a tragedy. Mitch Kupchuck has run this organization into the ground since Jerry West stepped down and will soon be known as the idiot GM who traded away both Shaq and Kobe. It's no wonder Kobe is pissed. He's playing in the prime of his career at a level that rivals any NBA great and he's got no help. Magic had Kareem and Worthy. Jordan had Pippen. Shaq had Kobe. Bird had McHale, Parrish, and DJ. Kobe has Kwame Brown and Smush Parker. The best-case scenario here is the Lakers get a deal done that brings either KG or Jermaine O'Neal to LA to play with Kobe. I think if Mitch could get that done, Kobe would back off of his trade demands. Problem is, I don't trust Mitch to get it done. He's too incompetent. This means Kobe will be leaving and the Lakers will be stuck getting some some garbage from the Eastern conference like they got in the Shaq deal. And here's your starting lineup - Lamar Odom, Luke Walton, Smush Parker, Luol Deng, and Ben Wallace. In the west that roster equals about 30 wins. If the Lakers trade Kobe and retain Mitch, I may have to break up with the Lakers - and this would bring my father immense joy, as he considers the fact that I'm a Laker fan one of his greatest failures as a parent. Needless to say, this off-season looks like it will be much more interesting than the NBA finals were, and that's not a good thing.
The NBA finals are over and like I predicted, the Spurs are world champions. See what I meant about knocking the Suns around? That's all you need to do to beat them. The Cavs? Please. They are horrible and wouldn't have gotten out of the first round in the west. My attention now jumps to this off-season where it is becoming more likely that Kobe Bryant will not be a Laker much longer. This is a tragedy. Mitch Kupchuck has run this organization into the ground since Jerry West stepped down and will soon be known as the idiot GM who traded away both Shaq and Kobe. It's no wonder Kobe is pissed. He's playing in the prime of his career at a level that rivals any NBA great and he's got no help. Magic had Kareem and Worthy. Jordan had Pippen. Shaq had Kobe. Bird had McHale, Parrish, and DJ. Kobe has Kwame Brown and Smush Parker. The best-case scenario here is the Lakers get a deal done that brings either KG or Jermaine O'Neal to LA to play with Kobe. I think if Mitch could get that done, Kobe would back off of his trade demands. Problem is, I don't trust Mitch to get it done. He's too incompetent. This means Kobe will be leaving and the Lakers will be stuck getting some some garbage from the Eastern conference like they got in the Shaq deal. And here's your starting lineup - Lamar Odom, Luke Walton, Smush Parker, Luol Deng, and Ben Wallace. In the west that roster equals about 30 wins. If the Lakers trade Kobe and retain Mitch, I may have to break up with the Lakers - and this would bring my father immense joy, as he considers the fact that I'm a Laker fan one of his greatest failures as a parent. Needless to say, this off-season looks like it will be much more interesting than the NBA finals were, and that's not a good thing.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
my brother, guns, and the playoffs
My brother is moving back to California with his family. I'm jealous and hope to move back myself in the next few years. He's going back to school and wants to eventually get on with the FBI. It is my dream to live close to one of my siblings (more than one would be even better). It looks like I'll be able to live next to my other brother eventually, as we both hope to end up in San Diego (he at San Onofre and me at Pfizer).
The tragedy at Virginia Tech is a chilling example of what happens when law-abiding citizens are forbidden from carrying their concealed firearms, even though they have a permit to do so. This madman would not have got through 30 people if someone could have been carrying their own protection. Isn't it obvious that all of these mass shootings occur in "gun-free" zones? These people are crazy, not stupid. They don't want people shooting back.
The NBA playoffs are underway. My beloved Lakers are likely done. Phoenix is just too good and the Lakers are too bad. At least they didn't get swept. They do however, need to knock Barbosa and Nash on their ass every time them come into the lane. I don't know why they don't do this. Those little guys would be more hesitant to come in and lay the ball up if they knew they were going to knocked down every time they tried. Hopefully they get some help this summer (KG, KG, KG, KG, KG!) The eastern conference is bad. Three sweeps in the first round? The winner of Detroit vs. Chicago will go to the NBA finals. Also, Go Warriors!!! I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Dirk is not an MVP. He's a wuss and a whiner. He will not be "the man" and lead a team to an NBA championship. He should not be the MVP. I don't know if he's going to win it, but he shouldn't. If you had one game to win and had to pick one player in the league to lead your team, who would you pick? I'd pick Kobe, but I'm biased. Wade would also be a good choice. But Dirk? I don't think so. The western conference is shaping up to be interesting. San Antonio and Phoenix will be good, but SA should win. They know to knock Steve Nash on his ass. The other side of the bracket, with hopefully Golden State and the winner of the Utah/Houston series, will be fun as well, but I don't any of those teams beating the Spurs. It will probably be a San Antonio vs. Detroit finals, which will a slug fest with teams barely breaking 70 ppg.
The tragedy at Virginia Tech is a chilling example of what happens when law-abiding citizens are forbidden from carrying their concealed firearms, even though they have a permit to do so. This madman would not have got through 30 people if someone could have been carrying their own protection. Isn't it obvious that all of these mass shootings occur in "gun-free" zones? These people are crazy, not stupid. They don't want people shooting back.
The NBA playoffs are underway. My beloved Lakers are likely done. Phoenix is just too good and the Lakers are too bad. At least they didn't get swept. They do however, need to knock Barbosa and Nash on their ass every time them come into the lane. I don't know why they don't do this. Those little guys would be more hesitant to come in and lay the ball up if they knew they were going to knocked down every time they tried. Hopefully they get some help this summer (KG, KG, KG, KG, KG!) The eastern conference is bad. Three sweeps in the first round? The winner of Detroit vs. Chicago will go to the NBA finals. Also, Go Warriors!!! I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Dirk is not an MVP. He's a wuss and a whiner. He will not be "the man" and lead a team to an NBA championship. He should not be the MVP. I don't know if he's going to win it, but he shouldn't. If you had one game to win and had to pick one player in the league to lead your team, who would you pick? I'd pick Kobe, but I'm biased. Wade would also be a good choice. But Dirk? I don't think so. The western conference is shaping up to be interesting. San Antonio and Phoenix will be good, but SA should win. They know to knock Steve Nash on his ass. The other side of the bracket, with hopefully Golden State and the winner of the Utah/Houston series, will be fun as well, but I don't any of those teams beating the Spurs. It will probably be a San Antonio vs. Detroit finals, which will a slug fest with teams barely breaking 70 ppg.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Imus
Since everyone is weighing in the Imus situation, I want to as well. I’ve read a few articles over the past week regarding this topic. All make good points. All agree that his comments were very inappropriate and should not have been made. People disagree over the action that should have been taken. Jemele Hill writes that Imus’ comments hurt all women, especially black women and that he should have been fired on the spot. (http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=hill/070410). Jason Whitlock basically says, “Who’s Imus?” and wonders why there isn’t similar outrage over the exact same type of language that is very common among hip-hop vernacular (http://www.kansascity.com/182/story/66339.html). I wonder how many people would have even heard about this incident if the national media hadn’t spread it around to everyone. It would be interesting to find out how many people were actually listening to the Imus show at the time the comment was made and compare that to how many people have heard about it now thanks to the media making a circus of this issue. Michael Wilbon says that Imus has a pattern of spouting offensive things, especially to black people (http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/04/10/AR2007041001891.html). LZ Granderson did a fantastic job. His analysis was right on. His article is entitled, “Hate is hate, no matter the target”. Like the others, he agrees that this language is deplorable and shouldn’t be tolerated, but goes on to wonder about certain groups that would typically be up in arms over a statement that is considered offensive to them. You see, people look out for their own, but don’t care much about others, no matter how offensive the language may be. For example, is you use the word faggot, the gay lobby is upset, but you don’t hear much from the NAACP. He also cites an example of when he gave Michael Irvin a free pass after saying, in regards in Tono Romo’s athleticism; “He’s athletic because his grandmother had sex with a slave.” He then goes on to speculate, “Had Mike Ditka said the reason that Donovan McNabb is intelligent is because his grandmother had sex with a slave owner, I’d have been looking for blood.” (http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=granderson/070409&sportCat=ncw) Forget Mike Ditka, imagine Rush Limbaugh making that comment on his radio program. Why the double standard? If language is inappropriate, it should be color-blind. I know that with our attitude of politically correctness, some things have been labeled “extra offensive.” To me, political correctness is a form of censorship – trying to silence voices that you would rather not hear. This is the land of freedom of speech. If Imus offends you with his racially charged language, then don’t listen. Isn’t that the same argument we hear for Howard Stern and his sexually charged show – you don’t like it, don’t listen to it. The same people who would defend Stern and his right to spew what many consider to be filth, are the same who are calling for Imus’ head over a different form of filth. In my book, filth is filth. If you don’t like it, don’t listen to it. I’m a firm believer of speaking with you wallet. If no one is listening, there is not going to be a radio show around for too long (look at Air America). I think that this situation can be used to open some needed dialogue. Is an apology appropriate? Only is he means it. Should he have been fired? Absolutely not. You don’t like him or what he says? Neither do I. That’s why I don’t listen.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
1/2 Ironman
Went to San Diego the last week of March to participate in a 1/2 ironman distance triathlon (1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, 13.1 mile run). It is called Ironman California and is hosted in Oceanside, about 30 miles north of San Diego. I arrived on Wednesday evening and was grateful to stay with my dear friend, Adam O'Farrell and his family. I had checked two pieces of luggage; one was my bike and the other everything else. Of course my bag with everything didn't arrive. Luckily, it was found quickly in LA and I was able to pick it up the next morning. We had a nice pasta dinner that evening, then caught "Lost" and went to bed.
The next morning, I drove over to La Jolla cove, put on my rented triathlon wetsuit, and went for a swim. I can't believe I used to get in that water without a wetsuit. It was frigid. I got a headache just from having my face in the water. That said it was nice to get in the water at that time so it wasn't so much of a shock the morning of the race. I spent some time putting my bike together and testing it out. It was really quite simple to transport it, just had to take off the pedals, seat, and handlebars. It fit snugly in the bike travel case I rented and arrived safe and sound. I had thought about borrowing Adam's bike, but he rides a 54 and mine is a 61 - that's a huge difference in bike sizes. That evening, we had some delicious salmon that Adam's wife made.
My nerves were really getting to me by this time. I have never done a race of this distance before. I knew the bike leg was quite hilly, which is the polar opposite of Miami. There was a portion of the run on the sand. I didn't know how my body would respond after being sick, having company, and traveling. I had been lowering my expectations for several weeks from wanting to finish in 5 hr 20 min (30 min swim, 3 hr bike, 1 hr 45 min run, 5 min transitions) and was now at a point where I just wanted to finish the race without passing out. Adding to my anxiety, I noticed that I hadn't run more than 10 miles at a time since before January 1, and now I was going to run 13.1 after 56 miles on the bike? What had I gotten myself into?
Friday morning I got up, dropped Adam off at work, and headed up to Oceanside to visit the expo. It only took me about 20 minutes to get there from Adam's office, which was nice. I parked at the pier, got some breakfast at this great little coffee shop, and headed to the expo. The weather was fabulous - 65 degrees and bright sun, which luckily held during the race. I made it a point to visit every booth. I tried on a pair of Newton running shoes, which felt awfully strange and are going to retail for $185. No thanks. That's more that two pairs of my beloved Brooks cost. I got into the Endless Pool they had on display and cruised for about 10 minutes. That machine was incredible. I will have one in my own pool someday. I bought some fuel (powerbars and powergels), spare tubes, CO2 canisters, and some souvenirs. I really liked some of the gear that 2XU had on display, with light neoprene built into the triathlon suit, but didn't like it $285 much. I can't believe how much money people spend on this sport. I felt bad enough dropping a grand for a low-end tri-bike, imagine spending $8,000? Hell, the wheels alone on most of these bikes are worth more than my entire ride. I left the expo happy, with many free samples and excited about the race. I went and picked up my registration materials, got weighed (192 - about 10 lbs more than I wanted) and headed back out. It was now official - I was racing. I had my bike numbers, my bib number, my color-coded swim cap, my bracelet identifying me as an athlete, and my timing chip. I also was a nervous wreck. I think I went to the bathroom 10 times that day. My stomach was in knots and to make matters worse, my asthma was acting up.
I met Adam at his office for lunch. One of my mission friends, Ben Sowards, happens to work on the same floor as Adam at the same firm. He joined us for lunch at this great Sandwich place. It was fun to share old stories and talk about some of the people I hadn't thought of in years. Sowards looked great, even sporting the Bucs jersey in my honor. I hung out a bit with Adam at his office while he finished some things up, then we headed back to his home. I went for a brief brick workout (bike ride then run), just 10 minutes each, and was almost had to stop because my asthma flared up big time. This did not help my nerves about the race. I should have taken a couple puffs before I began working out and I assured myself that as long as I did this before the race, I would be fine. We had a nice dinner at Olive Garden and I got to bed early.
It was a restless night and the 4:30 AM wakeup call couldn't come soon enough. I had some oatmeal and fruit for breakfast before we left. I got checked into transition and started to get things set up. It was a chilly 48 degrees. I made my way to the port a potty for a final pre-race poop. My nerves were being replaced with the adrenaline that only comes before a race. I changed into my wetsuit, checked my tire pressure, grabbed my swim cap and goggles, and headed to the starting line. I was starting to bounce up and down. I was anxious to get moving. It was fun watching the professional men and women begin their race. We had a few age groups go ahead of us, and then at our prescribed 7:03 AM start time, we entered the harbor. The water was chilly. We lined up for a deep-water start, and with the sound of a boat horn, we were off.
The beginning of the swim went very smoothly. I glided through the water with little effort in the fancy wetsuit (an Exterra Vengeance worth $400 that I rented for $30). I didn't have anyone in front of me and seemed to leave most of my group behind. I was stroking efficiently, sighting well, just cruising. At the turnaround point, things left the realm of smooth and got a bit choppy, but not too bad. I had caught up with some of the slower swimmers from previous waves, and passing them broke the fluidity I had enjoyed up until that point. Sighting became a bit more difficult as we were heading directly into the sun. This made spotting the buoys with a quick head lift impossible. I still managed to swim fairly straight and was soon nearing the exit. The swim portion of the triathlon is my favorite. It's my background and I need to get a big enough lead in the swim so I'm not totally killed during the run. I exited the water at 33 min, which was right around where I wanted to be.
I quickly proceeded to my bike, where I peeled off the wetsuit, threw down my cap and goggles, and slipped my socks on. My shoes were already attached to my pedals, so I took a quick drink, put my helmet on, puffed my inhaler, loaded up my fuel, and was off. When I exited transition, I mounted my bike, quickly slipped my feet into my shoes, and was underway. Time in T1 - 5 min. A bit too long, but still not bad.
The first part of the bike route was fabulous. We paralleled the beautiful Pacific coast for over 20 miles, with its rolling hills, bright sunny skies, and gorgeous ocean. I passed the 20-mile marker at less than an hour, which meant my pace was great. I felt so good and my asthma was under control. We headed inland for the next portion of the ride. We were riding through Camp Pendelton, a marine base just north of Oceanside. We got into some hilly sections and some nasty hills. There were four separate hills that made me want to get off my bike and walk. My minor victory was not doing just that, and there were people who had gotten off their bikes to walk. At one point, I checked my speedometer and was going 4 mph up the hill. That's half the speed I run at. It was grueling. After what seemed like forever, we crested the last hill and headed back to the coast. This part of the ride was great. I could coast and was going over 30 mph, hitting 37 when I pushed it. You don't want to fall when you're going that fast and wearing only a lycra triathlon suit. Ouch. I felt tired, but good. My legs had done well and the slow decline back to transition gave my legs a bit of a break before the run. My ass was another story. It was killing me. The chamois pad in my tri shorts is about a tenth the size of the one in my bike shorts and I could definitely feel it. I entered T2 at 3 hr exactly. I was shocked that I had achieved my goal time, especially with the hills. I had a rush come over me that I may be able to get to my initial goal time.
In T2, I racked my bike, took off my helmet, changed socks, put my running shoes on, took a drink, used my inhaler again, and headed out on the run. Total time in T2 - 7 min. That was too long, but didn't seem like I was dilly-dallying. Maybe I didn't realize how exhausted I was.
I wanted to be around 8:00/mi on the run portion and set out at that pace. My legs had that goofy "just got off the bike" feel that they always do when I'm starting to run and proceeded to do what I usually do, just run through it. I felt good for the first 1/4 mile and then it happened. Something I had been dreading. No, not my asthma. Luckily, that wasn't a factor at all. My legs cramped. It had happened during the marathon. In the back of my mind, I had feared it may happen here. I had flashbacks of those last 5 miles of the marathon where my legs were ready to buckle at any moment due to the cramps. Where I couldn't run more than a minute without having to walk my legs out for 3 minutes. After the marathon, I found out I was severely dehydrated, so I headed to a port-a-potty on the race and peed. Yep, it was dark orange, almost brown. I slowed down my pace, to about 10:30/mi and drank a lot at each aid station. I was able to keep running most of the time at this slower pace. Anytime I tried to speed up, my legs cramped. This was extremely frustrating as I felt great cardiovascularly and my breathing wasn't labored at all. Just my cramped legs. I tried a couple of times to pick up the pace, but to no avail. My legs were done. I managed to drink enough that I had to pee every other mile during the last 5 miles, so I was combating my dehydration, just seemed that I wasn't getting enough fluid and nutrients to my muscles. I managed to keep the 10:30/mi pace throughout, and with my added walks for fluids at the aid station and my pee breaks, I came in right at 11:00/mi for the race, finishing the run a full 40 minutes slower than I had wanted at 2 hr 24 min. Total time, 6 hr 11 min.
With those thoughts of disappointment, I saw the finish line and was suddenly overcome. I didn't feel a hint of disappointment once I saw the finish. I got very emotional and was overwhelmed with a sense of accomplishment. I crossed the line, was given my finishers medal, t-shirt, and hat. I was almost crying I was so happy. And in such pain. I hobbled over to the area where they were collecting the timing chips. I had to lift my leg with my hands to get it on the 18-inch platform so the volunteer could remove the chip from my ankle. I wrapped myself in the space blanket I received and went in to the athletes tent for some well deserved pizza and Coke. After sitting for only about 10 minutes, it took all the energy I could muster to stand back up again. I slowly made my way to my bike and began to pack up my things. I found Adam and we walked the mile back to the car, which was good because I was able to stretch my legs a bit during the walk.
I rewarded myself on the way home with and Ultimate Cheeseburger from Jack in the Box. I rewarded myself later that evening with a Bloomin' Onion, Ribeye steak, and Garlic Mashed potatoes from Outback. I slept well that night and got up the next morning and caught a plane home.
Looking back, I see areas of my training I could have done better. I need to figure out this cramping problem. I need to prepare myself better for hills. But I did it. I finished a 1/2 ironman distance race. I finished in the top 1/3 of all the people competing. I did it. It took me a week to be able to walk properly again. To this day, legs are still tired from the race. I can only say this about triathlon. I'm hooked.
The next morning, I drove over to La Jolla cove, put on my rented triathlon wetsuit, and went for a swim. I can't believe I used to get in that water without a wetsuit. It was frigid. I got a headache just from having my face in the water. That said it was nice to get in the water at that time so it wasn't so much of a shock the morning of the race. I spent some time putting my bike together and testing it out. It was really quite simple to transport it, just had to take off the pedals, seat, and handlebars. It fit snugly in the bike travel case I rented and arrived safe and sound. I had thought about borrowing Adam's bike, but he rides a 54 and mine is a 61 - that's a huge difference in bike sizes. That evening, we had some delicious salmon that Adam's wife made.
My nerves were really getting to me by this time. I have never done a race of this distance before. I knew the bike leg was quite hilly, which is the polar opposite of Miami. There was a portion of the run on the sand. I didn't know how my body would respond after being sick, having company, and traveling. I had been lowering my expectations for several weeks from wanting to finish in 5 hr 20 min (30 min swim, 3 hr bike, 1 hr 45 min run, 5 min transitions) and was now at a point where I just wanted to finish the race without passing out. Adding to my anxiety, I noticed that I hadn't run more than 10 miles at a time since before January 1, and now I was going to run 13.1 after 56 miles on the bike? What had I gotten myself into?
Friday morning I got up, dropped Adam off at work, and headed up to Oceanside to visit the expo. It only took me about 20 minutes to get there from Adam's office, which was nice. I parked at the pier, got some breakfast at this great little coffee shop, and headed to the expo. The weather was fabulous - 65 degrees and bright sun, which luckily held during the race. I made it a point to visit every booth. I tried on a pair of Newton running shoes, which felt awfully strange and are going to retail for $185. No thanks. That's more that two pairs of my beloved Brooks cost. I got into the Endless Pool they had on display and cruised for about 10 minutes. That machine was incredible. I will have one in my own pool someday. I bought some fuel (powerbars and powergels), spare tubes, CO2 canisters, and some souvenirs. I really liked some of the gear that 2XU had on display, with light neoprene built into the triathlon suit, but didn't like it $285 much. I can't believe how much money people spend on this sport. I felt bad enough dropping a grand for a low-end tri-bike, imagine spending $8,000? Hell, the wheels alone on most of these bikes are worth more than my entire ride. I left the expo happy, with many free samples and excited about the race. I went and picked up my registration materials, got weighed (192 - about 10 lbs more than I wanted) and headed back out. It was now official - I was racing. I had my bike numbers, my bib number, my color-coded swim cap, my bracelet identifying me as an athlete, and my timing chip. I also was a nervous wreck. I think I went to the bathroom 10 times that day. My stomach was in knots and to make matters worse, my asthma was acting up.
I met Adam at his office for lunch. One of my mission friends, Ben Sowards, happens to work on the same floor as Adam at the same firm. He joined us for lunch at this great Sandwich place. It was fun to share old stories and talk about some of the people I hadn't thought of in years. Sowards looked great, even sporting the Bucs jersey in my honor. I hung out a bit with Adam at his office while he finished some things up, then we headed back to his home. I went for a brief brick workout (bike ride then run), just 10 minutes each, and was almost had to stop because my asthma flared up big time. This did not help my nerves about the race. I should have taken a couple puffs before I began working out and I assured myself that as long as I did this before the race, I would be fine. We had a nice dinner at Olive Garden and I got to bed early.
It was a restless night and the 4:30 AM wakeup call couldn't come soon enough. I had some oatmeal and fruit for breakfast before we left. I got checked into transition and started to get things set up. It was a chilly 48 degrees. I made my way to the port a potty for a final pre-race poop. My nerves were being replaced with the adrenaline that only comes before a race. I changed into my wetsuit, checked my tire pressure, grabbed my swim cap and goggles, and headed to the starting line. I was starting to bounce up and down. I was anxious to get moving. It was fun watching the professional men and women begin their race. We had a few age groups go ahead of us, and then at our prescribed 7:03 AM start time, we entered the harbor. The water was chilly. We lined up for a deep-water start, and with the sound of a boat horn, we were off.
The beginning of the swim went very smoothly. I glided through the water with little effort in the fancy wetsuit (an Exterra Vengeance worth $400 that I rented for $30). I didn't have anyone in front of me and seemed to leave most of my group behind. I was stroking efficiently, sighting well, just cruising. At the turnaround point, things left the realm of smooth and got a bit choppy, but not too bad. I had caught up with some of the slower swimmers from previous waves, and passing them broke the fluidity I had enjoyed up until that point. Sighting became a bit more difficult as we were heading directly into the sun. This made spotting the buoys with a quick head lift impossible. I still managed to swim fairly straight and was soon nearing the exit. The swim portion of the triathlon is my favorite. It's my background and I need to get a big enough lead in the swim so I'm not totally killed during the run. I exited the water at 33 min, which was right around where I wanted to be.
I quickly proceeded to my bike, where I peeled off the wetsuit, threw down my cap and goggles, and slipped my socks on. My shoes were already attached to my pedals, so I took a quick drink, put my helmet on, puffed my inhaler, loaded up my fuel, and was off. When I exited transition, I mounted my bike, quickly slipped my feet into my shoes, and was underway. Time in T1 - 5 min. A bit too long, but still not bad.
The first part of the bike route was fabulous. We paralleled the beautiful Pacific coast for over 20 miles, with its rolling hills, bright sunny skies, and gorgeous ocean. I passed the 20-mile marker at less than an hour, which meant my pace was great. I felt so good and my asthma was under control. We headed inland for the next portion of the ride. We were riding through Camp Pendelton, a marine base just north of Oceanside. We got into some hilly sections and some nasty hills. There were four separate hills that made me want to get off my bike and walk. My minor victory was not doing just that, and there were people who had gotten off their bikes to walk. At one point, I checked my speedometer and was going 4 mph up the hill. That's half the speed I run at. It was grueling. After what seemed like forever, we crested the last hill and headed back to the coast. This part of the ride was great. I could coast and was going over 30 mph, hitting 37 when I pushed it. You don't want to fall when you're going that fast and wearing only a lycra triathlon suit. Ouch. I felt tired, but good. My legs had done well and the slow decline back to transition gave my legs a bit of a break before the run. My ass was another story. It was killing me. The chamois pad in my tri shorts is about a tenth the size of the one in my bike shorts and I could definitely feel it. I entered T2 at 3 hr exactly. I was shocked that I had achieved my goal time, especially with the hills. I had a rush come over me that I may be able to get to my initial goal time.
In T2, I racked my bike, took off my helmet, changed socks, put my running shoes on, took a drink, used my inhaler again, and headed out on the run. Total time in T2 - 7 min. That was too long, but didn't seem like I was dilly-dallying. Maybe I didn't realize how exhausted I was.
I wanted to be around 8:00/mi on the run portion and set out at that pace. My legs had that goofy "just got off the bike" feel that they always do when I'm starting to run and proceeded to do what I usually do, just run through it. I felt good for the first 1/4 mile and then it happened. Something I had been dreading. No, not my asthma. Luckily, that wasn't a factor at all. My legs cramped. It had happened during the marathon. In the back of my mind, I had feared it may happen here. I had flashbacks of those last 5 miles of the marathon where my legs were ready to buckle at any moment due to the cramps. Where I couldn't run more than a minute without having to walk my legs out for 3 minutes. After the marathon, I found out I was severely dehydrated, so I headed to a port-a-potty on the race and peed. Yep, it was dark orange, almost brown. I slowed down my pace, to about 10:30/mi and drank a lot at each aid station. I was able to keep running most of the time at this slower pace. Anytime I tried to speed up, my legs cramped. This was extremely frustrating as I felt great cardiovascularly and my breathing wasn't labored at all. Just my cramped legs. I tried a couple of times to pick up the pace, but to no avail. My legs were done. I managed to drink enough that I had to pee every other mile during the last 5 miles, so I was combating my dehydration, just seemed that I wasn't getting enough fluid and nutrients to my muscles. I managed to keep the 10:30/mi pace throughout, and with my added walks for fluids at the aid station and my pee breaks, I came in right at 11:00/mi for the race, finishing the run a full 40 minutes slower than I had wanted at 2 hr 24 min. Total time, 6 hr 11 min.
With those thoughts of disappointment, I saw the finish line and was suddenly overcome. I didn't feel a hint of disappointment once I saw the finish. I got very emotional and was overwhelmed with a sense of accomplishment. I crossed the line, was given my finishers medal, t-shirt, and hat. I was almost crying I was so happy. And in such pain. I hobbled over to the area where they were collecting the timing chips. I had to lift my leg with my hands to get it on the 18-inch platform so the volunteer could remove the chip from my ankle. I wrapped myself in the space blanket I received and went in to the athletes tent for some well deserved pizza and Coke. After sitting for only about 10 minutes, it took all the energy I could muster to stand back up again. I slowly made my way to my bike and began to pack up my things. I found Adam and we walked the mile back to the car, which was good because I was able to stretch my legs a bit during the walk.
I rewarded myself on the way home with and Ultimate Cheeseburger from Jack in the Box. I rewarded myself later that evening with a Bloomin' Onion, Ribeye steak, and Garlic Mashed potatoes from Outback. I slept well that night and got up the next morning and caught a plane home.
Looking back, I see areas of my training I could have done better. I need to figure out this cramping problem. I need to prepare myself better for hills. But I did it. I finished a 1/2 ironman distance race. I finished in the top 1/3 of all the people competing. I did it. It took me a week to be able to walk properly again. To this day, legs are still tired from the race. I can only say this about triathlon. I'm hooked.
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