Forced Rest

If you see me in the near future, try hard to fight your irresistible urges to hug me or kiss me hello. Not because I am anti-social or because I don't like you, but because I am sick and probably contagious. The consensus at my house is that I am suffering from a case of streptococcus. My best guess is that I picked it up on Monday while covering an assignment at the Y in Bucyrus. Fifty children were in a small room eating, playing, and running around.

A day earlier I was struggling to take a day off from my workouts. I knew I should rest but I decided to go for a fun ride on my mountain bike. It meant that I would not have a day off from exercise for twelve days. Well, it turns out I have had four days off in a row, with more in my near future. I wish I wasn't sick, but it is nice to have a "valid" excuse for rest. There is no way I could do much of anything aerobic. There is a certain peace in not having that choice.

I have been laying around, not doing much of anything. Much of my day is dedicated to sleeping. My nights are reserved for watching bad infomercials and reruns of Law and Order. The longer I sleep the more my throat hurts when I wake. I keep the naps short and try not to fight the insomnia in the middle of the night. Last night I woke at 2:30 and watched TV until 5:30 when I dosed off.

I rented a couple of flix online. I made some soup that makes my throat much more tolerable. I have discovered peppermint tea; delicious with honey and lemon! My wonderful wife has been taking care of me. She has pumped me full of a combination narcotic and holistic remedies. She brought me popcorn tofu and salt and vinegar chips from Whole Foods. This morning she even brought all the meds into the bedroom with a mug of hot tea. In return she got grumpy, irritable, sick boy. Sorry Sweetie!

The good news is that it wont be too long before I am back in action, but for now I am going to try and enjoy this forced rest. For all of you that warned me about resting, insert your Itoldyousos here. _______________________. Thank you :)

Sensory Cycling

Mountain biking in the snow at Mohican. Photo courtesy of Brad Cook

Sight: The trail was covered in snow, frightening obstacles obscured under a thin layer of nature's finest flakes. It was a pristine powder on the singletrack, the terrain to the left and right was not as white due to the foliage that broke up the snow's continuity. The tread of the rider in front was stamped into the agreeable alabaster blanket, mapping the right and wrong paths to follow. The curtains of leaves that provide a rider with solitude in the warmer months had been flung open to reveal more of the forest. The new view of a familiar trail made our surroundings almost foreign.

Sound: Shifting gears, the thud of a rider hitting the earth after discovering a patch of ice, the laughter of adult males enjoying their bikes like children, those were just a few of the audible delights detected on Sunday's Winter biking excursion. Although we rode in a pack, it seemed I could only detect noise my tires made as they crunched the snow and limbs below. Mohican was quieter than usual, the snow absorbed many of the natural sounds we normally take for granted, creating an even more peaceful ride.

Smell: This one is more difficult. Not because I don't remember, but because it lacks the romanticism of the prior two. The day's aroma for me was supplied my own balaclava. I had worn it on a run earlier in the week and had forgotten to wash it. It was dry, but traces of an earlier workout could be detected by my olfactory system. It was not too intense, but a mere reminder on occasion to keep up with my laundry! We have all been there, done that.

Taste: The tongue had to work on Sunday as well. I started my ride with a Wheaties power bar, chocolate and peanut butter danced on the buds of my tongue, creating what I believe is one of the most perfect flavor combinations ever! Cold water from my Camelbak had to replace the much preferred tall glass of milk to go with my energy bar. The water was cold and refreshing, probably better than milk anyways. A friend supplied the post-ride banana to begin the recovery process.

Touch: My shoulder, knee, and head never touched the ground on Sunday, although my shoulder did brush up against a few adjacent trees as I navigated the narrow path. I could feel my back tire slipping every so often. The snow and ice forced my core to work overtime on Sunday, staying upright was a full-time job. My thighs burned, my shoulders grew weary, and my toes were cold. None of that mattered because my heart was beating and very satisfied!

Sixth: I detected a stronger mountain biker on Sunday, I climbed with a confidence obtained from a winter of torturous workouts. I descended with a carefree nature associated with a person half my age. I cleared icy rock gardens with enthusiasm, not the trepidation usually reserved for my first few rides of the new year. I felt a little bit more like a mountain biker on Sunday. Success!

Sunday Morning Struggle

It is early Sunday morning, I am up too early and my mind is not mellow, as it should be at this hour on Sunday. There is a conflict in my cranium. Sadly this debate rages weekly my dome. It plagues my pate persistently! To rest or no to rest? That is the question.

It is Sunday and I have worked out 5 straight days, twice on a couple of those days. My friends are mountain biking late this afternoon. What is a boy to do? I need to rest, and I want to mountain bike! It is mid-February and my instincts say to get on the bike whenever possible. My common sense is telling me that I have cross training on Monday and Thursday. I am running a 6 miler on Tuesday and a half-marathon on Friday. I have spinning and racquetball on Wednesday and I will be cramming in several swimming workouts whenever my full-time job permits. Next Saturday I will probably spin in the morning.    So it could be 12 days between rests if I don't rest today!


Rest is very important, I get that! But it makes me very uneasy too. I hesitate to even call it rest, because I get nervous and I am tormented with guilt when I don't workout. There were many years in my life when "rest" was my activity of choice. Laying around, watching TV was my favorite hobby, not anymore. Rest is a tricky thing, it looks an awful lot like sloth. In Dante's Purgatorio, sloth is defined as the failure to utilize one's talents and gifts. I have a little talent when it comes to mountain biking, I have been given the gift of a day when riding is possible. 


Resting on Sunday is fine, and is not the same as sloth, but to me, if my bike is ready to ride, the weather is agreeable, and I have yet to workout, rest and sloth feel identical. Besides, riding a mountain bike is more fun than watching the Daytona 500 on a cold February day! I have not been on my mountain bike for months. It would feel great to bomb down some descents and climb a few tight switchbacks!


As I finish this short blog, a battle still rages in my brain. I have no idea if I will be on my mountain bike this afternoon. My track record says I will, my better judgement will get the final say.

It's Always a Race!

The story you are about to read is true! The names have not been changed, and the accounts in the paragraphs below have not been embellished. This is my experience as I lived it and I vow that it is 100% accurate!

Friday mornings I run with Dan, a fellow NJ photographer and my most regular workout partner. We cross train on Mondays and Thursdays and run six miles on Tuesdays and Fridays. We rarely miss a workout and the Winter months have been full of beneficial training days because we are both pretty faithful to the above schedule.

Sorry if this comes off as boastful, but to appreciate the story below, you need a little back story. On almost every occasion we have run, I have dictated the pace. We run at different speeds and both seem to be inconsistent with our times. My best 6 miler ever was a 49:59, and that was in July of 2010. I have not come within a minute of that time since setting it. I routinely finish 30 seconds, to as many as 5 minutes ahead of Dan, depending on how our legs feel that day. I have seen Dan complete the same distance between 52-60 minutes. 60 minutes was in some pretty deep snow.

This morning we met a 11:00 AM and I wanted to mention to Dan that I was going to shoot for a PR today. The weather was incredible and I just thought that I might be able to best my previous record. I forgot to mention it while we talked for a couple of minutes. We took off. I was in front, Dan right behind me. We reached the half-mile point and I opted for the right sidewalk, Dan crossed the street and ran on the other sidewalk. I could tell he was feisty, his stride was really strong and full of bounce. At one mile he was definitely in front of me and already across the street. He just made the light and I hit the pause on my Garmin as I yielded to a few cars. I resumed my watch about 10 seconds later, not too far behind but the gap did start to activate my competitive juices.

We hit the first hill. This would tell me something about his pace and my own. I reached the top and he was accelerating down the other side. He was pulling away! I lengthened my stride and tried to use gravity, but at best I maintained. He made a left turn and I started counting, 1, 2, 3, 20! That was quite a lead since we were only 1.3 miles into our route. After the left we had a long descent, and I tried to bridge half the gap. Once again, no change. He was going too fast, no way he could keep that pace I thought to myself.

He made another left and I watched him, trying to find a sign he was slowing. Instead I noticed something that disturbed me, he didn't look back. He had not looked back at me once. Dan was running his run and I was struggling to hold on. Whenever I am out front, I guarantee you I am looking back at you and trying to increase the gap. Dan was in a zone, and I was at his mercy!

For the next couple of miles I managed to keep him in check, never gaining on him, but never losing time either. I estimated that he was 50 yards ahead of me, and I started to think that might be too much. Even if I lifted the pace and closed the gap, would I have enough fuel to pass him and then maintain to the finish? I could not conjure up a scenario that would be favorable for me. I decided that chipping away was the best method. A little extra effort on the downhills and the same on the uphills.

Dan running our route.

My theory was working, but with only a mile to go, not fast enough. We hit the same light that stopped me on our out route, this time we both made it through. I was ten seconds back, but I could see that familiar bounce was still in Dan's stride. I said to myself, "You're done dude, the streak is over and there is a new champion." He was too strong and I was at my breaking point! I looked at my pace, it was 7:24, way above my pay grade!

About the same time I was admitting defeat, Dan began to pull away again. For a few seconds I turned everything down. Click! My ego booted everything up and I could taste those competitive juices again. Dan turned the corner at the half-mile mark, he looked right at me. That motivated me even more.

The street that leads to mine, and the end of our "race" was all downhill. I kicked it up a notch and decided to cross the street before Dan. He was on one side, I was on the other. I checked my pace, it was in the sixes, things were happening too fast for me to get more specific. Dan crossed the street just before we made the right hand turn and I could see the fire hydrant that marks the six mile distance we run twice a week. He turned first and I turned a second behind him and took off.

I didn't turn around, I just focused on that hydrant! I was sprinting as if there was a pot of gold awarded to the first finisher. In my head I thought the race was decided. My legs were sure it was over and started to slow long before our finishing spot. Next thing I know Dan is on my right shoulder and takes his lead back! I muster up everything I have for one last attack. My legs are screaming but for a few more seconds my ego is calling the shots!

With absolutely every muscle fiber on "threat level red," I reached the hydrant first and looked at my watch. It didn't say six miles yet, I was almost .05 short. Now that may not seem like much, but it was the longest 9 seconds of my life. I finished about a step in front of Dan. Tuesday that would have seemed like a bad day, but on this Friday it was awesome!

I turned around to give Dan a fist bump but neither of us had the coordination to make our knuckles meet. I know I was more concerned about oxygen at the moment. We finished with a time of 48:49. Besting my best time by over a minute. Dan obliterated his best!

It seemed like a typical Friday run when we started this morning. I can say without a doubt that I will remember today's run for a long time, and I will measure future runs by the one we completed today. Truly an amazing run Dan! Thank you!

I don't mind saying that I am a little nervous about next Tuesday!

This quote comes from a blog I recently read, I thought it was apropos: Even if a training partner is faster than you, don’t discount yourself. Chances are very good that person admires something about you. Your positive attitude, your ability to make compression shorts look good, your persistence…whatever it is, keep it up. There’s a reason they’re still training with you, you badass.

The Road Expirement Pt. II

We pedaled away from the safety of my house, unaware of what the future had in store for us. It was exhilarating, the feel of the bike shifting left to right as I stood on the pedals made me giddy. Gary Fisher was right when he said that bikes want to move forward. My bike seemed eager to fly, similar to a bird when its cage doors are opened. Ironically the brand of my beater bike is Flyte, and it has the burden every winter to be pinned down on my trainer. But today I flung the cage doors wide open and we "flew!"

The three of us worked our way out of town, just a couple of busy roads and a few miles and we would be on country roads, testing out our theory that bikes are more fun off of our trainers. We were bundled up good, and the Sun's rays felt so satisfying as they warmed our cheeks on a chilly February biking day. None of us complained about the temperature, we were just happy we were emancipated from dreary basements and spinning classes.

For miles we rode, getting looks from a few motorists who were surprised to see cyclists out on a brisk Tuesday afternoon. We reached a couple of long downhill stretches that increased our speeds from the teens to the twenties, our joy accelerated with our speeds. We climbed and descended, it was everything we had hoped it would be. Then it happened. Thud, thud, thud. My tire was going flat! This never happens to me on my trainer. That is why we stay inside where it is safe. Eight miles into our ride and it became clear that this outdoor riding is not all it is cracked up to be. To good to be true!

None of us panicked, we kept our wits and worked together to change my tube. Due to the cold, it was harder than it should have been. But we got it done and managed not to freeze in the process. We had so much fun in those first eight miles we decided to keep riding outside and not go home and lock back into the trainers. The three intrepid cyclist would not be deterred. We loved the exterior riding and wanted more miles!

We finished Tuesday's ride with a meager 31 miles, but it was more than enough to plaster smiles across our faces. The ride was average as far as rides go, but getting outside and becoming real cyclists renewed our passion for the sport. More importantly it repaired a lot of the damage done to our souls over the Winter months.

Cyclists, like birds, need to be free!

The Road Expirement

There was an internet rumor I had heard through Facebook.  An account from a friend that claimed he had actually freed his bike from the clutches of his basement trainer on Sunday and rode it outside. The story seemed plausible and contained many of the details necessary to deem it credible. But it just seemed to good to be true. Riding your bike on the outside? Is this really possible? Moving forward, advancing down a street, the way Pierre and Ernest Michaux intended when they invented the modern bicycle in the 1860's? Enjoying fresh air and not breathing in the staleness of my house's dungeon cycling quarters? Pedaling under warm natural light from the Sun and not the nauseating green pulses of illumination from a tube? NOT BLOODY LIKELY!

I am excited to report to all of you that the stories are true! I have even supplied undoctored pictures as proof of our outdoor adventure. The heroes of this story are of course, myself, and friends Steve and Brad. The three of us hatched this crazy scheme of exterior cycling after hearing the Facebook account and deciding to try this for ourselves. We felt like modern day explorers as we boldly mapped out how we would accomplish this unlikely feat.

We met in front of my house. The Sun was shining and both Steve and Brad were running behind schedule. I had the day off of work so I was ready long before our scheduled three o'clock experiment. I had packed extra tubes and inflation devices along with a phone and my wallet. Anything I could think of in case of an emergency. None of us were too confident. Who knew, we could ride off the edge of this planet if it indeed is flat! I think I read that somewhere.

Packing up my phone was a good thing. Brad sent me two texts that I missed because my phone was packed away. The first one read, "Not going to make it. Work!" I think "Work" might have been code for, "This is crazy, it can't be done!" No matter, Brad summoned up the courage to write another text that said. I can leave now." and he did. 

Steve arrived first, I looked up and saw his bike strapped to the roof of his car, similar to the way one would attach it to a cycling trainer. I guess he wasn't mentally ready to free his bike from the clutches of a stationary clamp. We were all a little nervous, and it was showing in subtle ways. Brad showed up a couple minutes later, his bike was hidden from the elements completely in the trunk of his car. None of us appeared ready for such an adventure. I was the brave one who challenged the roads first. My house is on a boulevard and I brazenly did a lap around it, just to test out our theory. After I orbited the grassy boulevard still covered in snow, Steve asked me, "How was it, how were your legs?" I smiled and said it was great, my face glowing with joy and the rays of the Sun above me. "Try it for yourself." I exclaimed. Steve didn't hesitate, he manuvered the center island easily, as Brad continued to get ready.

Brad didn't make a lap around, I could tell he was ready to shove off. He didn't need to "try" this. He wanted to jump in with both feet. He was ready for this, we all were. It was time. The three of us accelerated, free from the bonds of our trainers, with only each other and the supplies we carried. Three frightened cyclist took off on an adventure, none of us were guaranteed a safe return! But we boldly pedaled, advancing forward the way the Pierre and Ernest intended!

To be continued......

No Room in the Spin

It is Saturday morning, 6:00 AM. I roll over and hop out of bed 45 minutes before the alarm on my phone is programmed to interrupt my much deserved slumber. I know what is in store for me. Pain and suffering are 90 minutes away, but I am not afraid! I will be enjoying a soak in the hot tub before being tortured by Mr. Crane, the spin Guru at the Y on Saturday mornings. He is built to ride a bike, lean and mean. He has the stamina of a team of clydesdales and moves with the grace of a soaring bird of prey. His Aussie accent makes the commands he barks out just a little easier to obey. I doubt I would take direction from him as easily without that smooth Australian dialect.

Before he can pound me into submission I will spend some me time in the spa, erasing some of the pains from Friday's six mile run. I soak and soak and soak, and because I forgot to wear a watch, I soak a little more. I power down the jets that provided me with much needed relief. I towel off and walk through deep snow back to the house. "Oh noooo!" It is now 6:45 and I am really going to have to scramble to get there on time. I throw gear in my bag and rush out the door.  It is 7:05 and I have a 10 minute drive. I should make my 7:30 class with ease. I sip my Cytomax Monster Milk Cookies & Cream as I drive. It tastes terrible and I decide to chug the bottle and then never buy it again!

I arrive in plenty of time, I even see the taskmaster who will be torturing me shortly. I remember that I left my other drink in the front seat of the car, a can of peach mango FRS. A much tastier beverage. I turn around and joke with him that I am too tired and I am going back to bed:) After grabbing the drink I swipe my membership card and head up the the studio with the spin bikes. The room is packed, most of the class are good friends of mine and I always look forward to my Saturdays with them.

I look at a couple of my favorite bikes, taken! I start to look at the bikes up front, closer to our cycling supervisor, taken. I start to panic, will I get a bike? NOPE, not this Saturday! Standing room only! $#*%! Pardon my symbols. So I do the next best thing, I run again. I run a 5k, passing the cycling studio where all my friends are being persecuted by our diabolical but appreciated instructor. I ran by them 43 times. But I had fun! They looked like they were too. I finished my 5K and then rode the virtual bikes, I hadn't done that in awhile and it was fun. I finished on the bike and tortured myself on the elliptical for a half an hour. My heart rate was around 150-160bpm for 90 minutes. Mr. Crane would be proud.

I will be setting the alarm for 6AM next Saturday, but my soak will be shorter and my suffering will be with friends. You know what they say, "Misery loves company!"

Dennis Byrd's Inspirational Speech

"A man has a body, a mind and a spirit. There are times in a man's life when his body tells him it can't continue on. Where his mind will tell him that the task set for him is too hard for him to accomplish. Those two don't matter. It's a man's will, a man's spirit that will tell him you can do this! It will make the mind and the body follow along." - Dennis Byrd

I watched Tom Jackson's interview with Dennis Byrd during the AFC Championship game a couple of weeks ago. Mr. Byrd floored me with the above quote. It was an amazing sentiment, from a pretty amazing person. If you don't know the story, Dennis Byrd was a defensive lineman with the New York Jets. In 1992 during a game with the Kansas City Chiefs Dennis Byrd collided with a teammate and shattered a vertebra in his neck. He was partially paralyzed from the injury.

Dennis Byrd should have been a triathlete, he should have been an Ironman. The quote he shared with the 2010 Jets team embodies the philosophy that makes 140.6 mile a reality for a successful triathlete. A triathlon is grueling, it taxes the body to the point of exhaustion. Your body screams for you to stop! The distance of a full ironman race is more than most minds can wrap around. It is about the distance from Seattle, Washington to Portland, Oregon, no small feat! The key to finishing is the spirit as Mr. Byrd said so eloquently! Desire, pride, fear, soul and dedication, all balled up into "Spirit!" That is what gets the lucky ones across that line. That is what makes winners like Dennis Byrd an Ironman!

I have included Mr. Jackson's video piece of Dennis Byrd below, it is worth your time to watch!

Chilly Belly

Recently at the end of my runs I have noticed something that needed an explanation. Why is my stomach so cold? As I get ready for my post-run shower I find that the surface of my belly and sides are ice cold to the touch. What is up with that? The rest of my body is warm, even hot. My running clothes are moist with sweat, and I hardly felt the cold once my internal furnace flames started to stoke themselves. So I did what anyone would do in the year 2011, I Googled it. I found many explanations, here are a few.


From a contributer on Beginner triathlete:  It's very simple. Those of us with a little "ahem" extra fat around the mid section will experience this.  Your muscles are burning glycogen, in a very literal sense.  As your body takes fuel and burns it for energy, it generates heat.  However, fat does not burn fuel, it is fuel (in a manner of speaking), so it doesn't generate heat.  If we all had great 6-pack abs with 4% body fat, I daresay we wouldn't experience the cold tummy syndrome.


From Answers.com: Your stomach gets cold when you workout because you are burning calories/losing weight. The fats and carbohydrates get digested much quicker and the blood begins to rush to other organs at a faster rate. Fermentation then kicks in and replaces the oxygen being lost from your blood going elsewhere in your body with lactic acid. The lactic acid will cause both a buring in your abdominals along with a colder feeling on the surface of your stomach. 


Many websites said this: My coach says that if your belly/fat is cold after a workout then your body is burning its fat reserves.

I truly have no idea if any of the above are the correct answer to my original question. Who knows with the stuff you find on the net these days? What I do know is that those cold areas are definitely the areas where fat is stored on my body. So when those areas stop getting cold I am guessing I will be closing in on my weight loss goals. Nature and biology has provided me a little blueprint of my problem areas. Isn't that special!

Heartbreak

I pride myself on NOT being one of those fans that live and die by the successes and failures of my team. I live in Ohio and I am surrounded by insanely loyal, die-hard Buckeyes fans. I consider myself a Buckeye fan for sure, but I try not to be the fanatic. When the team wins, I don't say "We won!" When the team loses, I didn't lose, they did. For "we" to be appropriate, I would have had to be on the field, giving my blood. Attending an institution is not a "we" ticket either. I am pretty sure the linebacker of the 1982 Buckeyes didn't say, "We graduated!" when you got your degree. Because he didn't take the finals, you did!

With all that being said, it is Monday morning and this guy is sad, slightly depressed. Blue is my mood. My beloved Steelers, the team of my youth, lost a close one on Sunday night. I have been a fan since the days of Swann, Lambert, Harris, Bradshaw, Greene, Ham and the great Chuck Noll. For 35 years the Steelers have been there for me, and I have been there for them. If an NFL team builds a stadium in the backyard of my house, I will only show up when the Black and Gold are in town, and those will be the colors I will be wearing! You get the idea, I like the Steelers.

As badly as I am feeling today, I can't imagine how bad the Steelers players must be feeling. To come this close and fall short must be devastating! If I try to comprehend the pain those players are carrying on their broad shoulders, the closest I could come is to train for nine months, with passion, and not finish my ironman. To let it all hang out and fall just short would be horrible; like twisting an ankle at mile 139 and DNF'ing. Thank God there is no one playing defense in the sport of triathlon!

The beauty of our sport, at least for me and the group of athletes I know is our victories take place at the finish line. We all feel like winners when we cross it. We all want each other to do well and succeed! There is an unspoken bond between endurance athletes that stems from our appreciation of just how hard we work to cross that line. It is one of the unique qualities that makes this sport so special and dear to my heart.

The pain I feel today is insignificant to those of the players that lost the Super Bowl yesterday. But I assure you it is real. It will be applied to future workouts, I will remember it and use it as motivation! Hopefully this loss will not be in vane, it will serve as a tool applied towards my OWN achievements. I don't want to feel that agony, I want to fell the glory those damn Packers are feeling!

Congrats to the Pack! Steelers, I still love ya! We will get'em next year! Oops, I mean you will  :)

140.6 Miles

The 2.4 mile swim

Standing in the sand, waiting to run into the opaque waters of Lake Erie, the Sun is yet to peek out from behind the horizon. I know right now that my stomach will be churning. I am fairly sure my goggles may get misty as the emotions of ten months of training culminates into a fraction of the second the starter's gun sounds. I can't wait to dive into that 2.4 mile swim. Last September I had so much fun in the swim that I have no fear for the full distance aqua portion of my first ironman race. I promise you that I will be ready for that swim, I can actually see myself "jumping" the start because I am so mentally ready for that swim.

112 mile bike ride

If I have a strength, it is after T1. The bicycle was my "gateway drug" into the world of triathlons. I have never ridden 112 miles. The most I have ridden was maybe 106 miles when I got lost during a century ride. I really can't comprehend what it will be like to ride that distance during race conditions. Will I stop and stretch the legs? What will my backside feel like after that distance? Will I even be able to run? Will there be time for a potty break? How many miles will I be able to stay in the aero position? So many unanswered questions. My plan is to get in lots of sixty mile training rides and quite a few 75-100 mile rides as well.

26.2 mile run

Wow! It is scary to even type that number. I can count on one hand how many times I have run a half-marathon. I don't need a single digit to count my full marathons. I am sweating this third the most, I imagine most triathletes do just because of where it falls in the race. I have never run that distance, and I have no plans to before race day. I will have used up every drop of adrenaline that was with me at the start of the triathlon when I leave T2. My legs will be weary from my biking efforts. Those reasons will definitely add to my anxiety on race day, but they will also make it that much sweeter if I can make the distance.

Mahi-mahi Recipe

My wonderful wife and I recently decided to try "mahi-mahi." We purchased two pieces frozen, marinated and vacuum sealed from Trader Joe's grocery store.

Mahi-mahi is a type of fish,. They frequent warm waters and are typically found in areas like the Caribbean, the South Pacific, and Southeast Asia. The name comes from the Hawaiian language and means strong in Hawaiian, and was used for this particular fish because they are known for their fighting ability and strength.


I googled a recipe for the fish. Even though the temps are in the 20's, I decided that grilling was the way I wanted to go. When I searched I came up with a recipe that sounded too good to pass up. It was easy and I already had all of the ingredients in the house. It turned out mazing, and this is from a guy that just doesn't love fish!


2 Marinated pieces of Mahi-mahi
2 clove of garlic crushed
2 tablespoons real butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 can of (organic) diced tomatoes
1/2 yellow onion
Dash of salt


Melt butter and mix with olive oil and pour in small aluminum pan. Slice onion and coat with the butter. Remove onions and mix in garlic. Place mahi-mahi in pan. Sprinkle salt. Place onions on top of filets and pour diced tomatoes on top. Cover with aluminum foil and place on top rack of grill. Heat for 30 (approx) minutes.
Serve immediately. 


My wife flaked hers and put on a spinach salad, I enjoyed mine as shown in photo. She would also like me to mention that the Trader Joe's Mahi-mahi is caught wild and NOT farm raised!


Mahi-mahi facts: In Hawaiian it is spelled Mahimahi. The fish has top speeds estimated at 50 nautical miles per hour.