A day to remember!

With friends and family directly behind me and Brad, the man that drew me into the sport of triathlon on my right, I stood in the sand waiting for the start of an adventure of a lifetime. I glanced over at Brad a couple of times, he looked relaxed and unphased by the task ahead of us. My guess is that his stomach was churning as rapidly as mine. But this was different than in the past. I was excited. A day earlier I told Brad that I was nervous; I felt like I had to give a speech in front of thousands of people. On race day I felt ready, like a bullet that needed to be fired. I suspect the difference between Saturday's nerves and Sunday's excitement was a pair of kisses from my wife and mom, a big bear hug from my dad, and handshakes and hugs from friends who came to support Brad and myself on our big day. The laughs and encouragement from all of those special people made my start better that I could ever have hoped!

The horn sounded and melee began. All 303 athletes competing in the full 140.6 mile race abandoned the safety of the beach for the chilly waters of Lake Erie. The water was black and muddy at the start, it matched the tone of the wetsuits worn by most of the competitors. It didn't bother me since the water got better by the time I dove in and began my freestyle. Early in the race a woman next to me hit me square in the jaw as I was coming up for air. The force of the blow submerged my face at he same moment I was taking a breath. It took a few moments to cough out the water but I never stopped swimming and had an uneventful and fun swim after. I was also very straight with my navigating and that made the swim much easier.

Exiting the water after 2.4 mile swim.

I exited the water and my time was 1:16-something. I had estimated I would finish the swim between 1:15 - 1:30, so I was really happy when I looked at my stopwatch. I ran on the beach and heard encouraging words from everyone and I saw my buddy Rick as I ran to T1. I yelled hello and kept going. I heard my name a couple of times but never saw who it came from. I didn't see anyone else until I got to the bike, there I saw my mom and wife cheering me on. I felt like getting more kisses but decided to treat this like a race and move forward.

As I hopped on the bike and sped away from my friends and family, I was all smiles. I thought to myself how fun that swim was and I was filled with a feeling of total bliss. That feeling would be short-lived. The euphoria I experienced riding on the Cedar Point Chaussee was replaced by horror when I turned onto Route 6. I made the turn and headed NW on the state route. As I made the turn I caught a glimpse of my shadow on the road......something didn't look right! I noticed that the rack holding two water bottles behind me looked like it was missing a bottle. My immediate thought was, "Please let it be the bottle on my right that is missing." It wasn't, It was the one on my left. The missing bottle contained a spare tube, patch kit, inflation device, CO2 cartridges,tire lever, multi-tool and a special attachment called a "crack pipe." A crack pipe is a special tool I needed for a tire change on my disk wheel. Very few riders would be carrying one of those if I needed help.

Me in Milan minus one water bottle.

 For 109 miles I rode with the fear that a simple flat tire could destroy my hopes of finishing what I started nine months earlier when my ironman training began. The nerves from Saturday were back and intensified 1000%! Around mile 100 things got a little brighter when an SUV pulled up next to me and started cheering me on .....by name? It was my wife and parents, they had gone out to lunch and were on their way back to Cedar Point and the transition area. Seeing my family and hearing their encouraging words were just what I needed, my speed increased from about 17 mph to 25 mph easy! I finished the bike portion stronger than I ever could have hoped and was so relieved that I didn't need the tools I lost over five hours earlier!

As much as I love cycling, I am not convinced the human body is designed to do it for long distances. At the end of the 112 mile ride, my hips and feet were both very sore. Not exactly the ideal scenario at the start of a marathon for a guy who is hardly a runner. The first couple of steps I winced from the pain from the bottom of my feet, I wasn't even out of the changing tent at transition. I put on a brave face and headed out where my wife was waiting, I waved, smiled and headed out for a 26 mile run.

The pain in my feet slowly disappeared and I was free to "run." The fatigue created by the first two legs of my journey caught up with me on the third, no surprise. I ran most of the first of two loops, walking at each aid station as I replenished fluids. I made it back to the start of my run only to have to turn around and do the whole thing over one more time.

I was optimistic as I headed back out, I saw my wife and mom who were now joined by my aunt. Seeing the three of them bolstered my spirits and kept my feet moving forward. The next 10 miles were long and filled with a mix of running and walking when I had to.

Since the run course is two loops I got a chance to see Brad during his run on three different occasions. Twice we spoke as we passed, one time we did a "stop-n-chat." After each encounter with Brad I got stronger and moved quicker, I hoped he was effected the same way.

The last three miles were fueled by the optimism that I would actually do this. As I reached the top of the only real hill on the whole run, I could see the transition and finish. Shortly after I could hear the festivities. I turned down the first chute toward the finish line, I heard a voice in the distance, "Is that you Jason?" It was Dee and her husband Greg. I can't remember what else they said but I remember they both started running with me and yelling. It was sooooo exciting and I will always remember that as the start of my magical finish!

I turned the corner and passed my Dad who had found a place to park 200 yards from the finish, I could hear him yelling for me and my legs grew stronger and my pace increased again. I knew that once I passed him he would be on that Iphone, sending a heads up to my mom and wife that I was on the way and relaying the new to those who could not be there in person.

Glory achieved!

I reached the last 25 yards of running and a volunteer asked me if I would like to carry a flag in honor of it being September 11th. "Hell yes!" I replied and I was handed a full sized flag on a pole that I proudly carried across the finish line. The same finish line that I started swimming, biking and running towards nine months earlier. Just like that, I was an Ironman, forever!

Ann was within two feet of me when I crossed the finish line, my mom and aunt too. All of them misty-eyed from the emotional moment. I hugged them all, truly happy and for once amazed at what I could do. The day was perfect, it exceeded my expectations and was worth every second of pain, sweat, and sacrifice during my training.

The moments that I will remember the most are the ones I spent with my family and friends! They made the day special and worked and sacrificed a lot to cheer Brad and myself on and give us strength when the fatigue started to show. Sunday was one of a handful of those magical days in my life that I will remember forever, and all of you that shared that special day with me will be part of those memories!

Thank you to Rabbit, John, Rick, Greg, Dee, Teresa, Brian, Aunt Marsha, my Mom and Dad and the most wonderful wife in the world!

A big special thanks to you Brad, I am not an Ironman today without your knowledge, encouragement and unwavering optimism. You made me believe that I could do something that common sense said I couldn't do. I am forever grateful!

Brad and I after our Ironman adventure.

 Photos courtesy of Brian Coon

Emotional Wreck

On Saturday, four hours before kickoff,  I was walking around the field of the Ohio State Buckeyes. The walk has been part of my pregame ritual before shooting each game for many years. Usually I use that four or five minutes to think about the game and come up with a couple of angles I have yet to exploit at Ohio Stadium. This Saturday, eight days before the start of my 140 miles to glory, I could only think of my race. I made a mistake and let the idea of crossing the finish line enter my consciousness. My face started to get flush, my eyes welled up and tears started to stream down my face.

Sunday my dad sent me a text, inquiring about my status and checking to see how stressed I was. I confessed that I was an emotional wreck and thought I knew why. For the last nine months my therapist has been two-a-day workouts, sometimes even three. Now that I am in taper mode and getting more rest than I am used to, I am going a little crazy and in need of a release valve or something is gonna blow.

That is why I am back here after letting this blog fade for the last few months. Writing helps me stay sane and hopefully keep those emotions in check until I need to utilize them next Sunday at 7:05 AM when I go for a 2.4 mile swim. Many of the hours I used to run, bike or swim will be available for preparations and writing in my long forsaken humble blog.

Tearing up at the Ohio State football game can be a little embarrassing. I only hope the next tears are ones of joy as this wannabe ironman crosses that magical finish line.

The Grownups Table

I have some remarkable friends who routinely do amazing things. Lately they have been busy achieving their goals and I can't help but be a little jealous of their accomplishments. I awoke on Saturday, inspired my my comrades.  I had a little extra time on my hands and thought to myself that I should do something special today. I should surprise myself and do something that amazes me. A lot of different ideas bounced around my skull, but one persisted.

I went to work and finished by 2PM. I went home and prepared to do something epic. I scratched a note for my wife, it read, "Went running, keep your phone handy. Heart J."

For the last three years I have run at least one half-marathon. Some call it a half, others refer to it as a mini. I prefer half but neither feels too good coming out of my mouth. I never like having to qualify the distance with half or mini. I plan on competing in a full-Ironman in September that ends with a marathon distance run, and I have felt a tad bit uneasy about that being my first marathon. Saturday, I decided that September would be my second marathon, not the first.

I packed a Camelbak full of water, two bananas, power bars, wallet, keys, and one phone I was hoping not to use. I drove to the bike trail and headed South. My plan was simple, run 13.1 miles, turn around and make it back to the car. The furthest I have ever run is about 13.5 earlier this January.

I took off with a very conservative pace, about a 9 minute mile with a heart rate of 150 bpm. If I didn't pay attention to my speed I would creep into the 8:30 pace which is too fast to last for me. The miles went very slowly, by mile 6 I started to wonder if this was a bad idea. It was raining pretty good and I had no idea if I was heading into a storm.

I had not told a soul of my plan, so turning around and ending up with my monthly half-distance training run would have been a respectable accomplishment to anyone, except myself. I kept running, every once in awhile I would think of Forrest Gump and how he to ran without much of a plan. The rain died down and I had the trail to myself. I made it to Bellville and stopped to get in my Camelbak. I grabbed a banana and consumed it in 30 seconds easy. I used the facilities and continued South. It was getting real now. I was past the 10 mile mark and I knew that turning around now would make a 20 mile run. If I kept going, I would need to run a 5K, turn around and run another 5K just to get to where I am right now. After that I would still have ten more miles!

I kept running and hit the 13.1 mile mark at 2hrs 4mins. I was hoping for 2 hours but had not factored in stops, so this was pretty good.

The run back was hard, but I was determined not to be defeated in my head. It was okay if my legs gave out, but I wanted to stay positive and mentally strong. My pace slowed considerably, no shock there. I was now running up hill with less than fresh legs. I broke up the rest of the run into 6 segments, making the completion of each a small victory. My left Achilles tendon was tight, my right knee felt like it was full of fluid, and I had a nagging pain in my back. When I analyzed the pain I decided none were too uncomfortable and I proceeded North.

I reached the finish with no fanfare, the packed lot where I parked contained my car and one other. There was no arch to run under, no vuvuzelas sounding, no announcer mispronouncing my name, and no wife to hug at the finish. There was just me, with a big old smile on my face. I bent over and placed my hands on my knees truly amazed that I had just run 26.2 miles! It was only then that I realized I could run that far. I don't think there was a single second in those 4+ hours that I believed it was possible. I never walked and only stopped long enough to open that backpack.

I will ride his high for a while and build on it. Training is great, but sometimes milestones are necessary to keep things fresh and mark one's progress. Saturday I joined the grownups table with a FULL marathon. Man, does it feel great to use the word FULL!

Journey great, destination better!

American author Greg Anderson is quoted as saying.' Focus on the Journey, not the destination. Joy is found not in finishing an activity but in doing it."

That is fine and I do not disagree, sort of. I do think it is about time someone stood up and took up the mantle for the finish. It seems that the finish's public relations team  has been slacking and needs a swift kick in the butt. I might just be the person for the job.

I workout 10-12 times a week, my current goals are to ride in the Mohican 100K mountain bike race, perform very well in the Muncie Ironman 70.3 mile triathlon in July, and finish the Revolution3 140.6 mile triathlon in September at Cedar Point. I have completed the first two distances, the third is the relentless monster that wakes me up in the middle of the night.

During my weekly workouts I push hard at times and other times I focus on lasting, making my specialty "going the distance." During those times when I am at my breaking point, I think of crossing the next finish line and how amazing it will feel. My blood moves quicker, my breathing gets a little easier, and my mind becomes euphoric. I have to admit that part of the journey IS pretty cool.

Since getting up off the couch and getting in shape, I have taken many journeys, and finished quite a few races. Actually I have finished them all, knock on wood. I have run a half-marathon, raced in mountain bike and road races, and finished two triathlons. All of my training was beneficial and memorable, but the feeling of crossing that finish line was like a drug that you can not get enough of.

Hi, my name is Jason and I am an addict! A finish line addict.

Saying that it is the journey and not the destination is something you tell someone that is still on the journey portion of their quest.  I have never heard someone talk about the journey once they are on the desired side of the finish line. It is crossing the line that transforms couch potatoes into athletes.

I will concede that a finish without the trials and tribulations of training would be hollow and unsatisfying. There must be suffering during the journey to make the destination so sweet. Oh and how sweet it is too. On more than one occasion tears of bliss have dripped from my cheek as I crossed that magical line. I remember everyone like it was yesterday.

Mr Anderson, it is admirable and accurate to write about the virtues of "the Journey." All of my experiences so far lead me to the conclusion that there is also plenty of joy to be found at the finish. Wanna race me there?

A Good Story

I am feverishly reading back issues of Triathlete magazine, enjoying hand-me-downs from a friend and fellow triathlete. You can find his blog here. One of the articles that inspired me was about a 65 year old by the name of Richard Decker.

In 2009 Mr. Decker was returning to the Big Island after 25 years away. He was returning to Kona for another dance with one of the world's most difficult races. His goal was to beat his previous time of 15:14:17, a time he earned at age 40. At 65, this was one lofty goal. A goal he would not accomplish!

Richard had finished the swim and bike and was five miles into the run when he felt something pull around his right Achilles tendon. He wasn't sure what had happened but it made running difficult. He knew he would have to walk a good portion of the race. He called it the "Kona shuffle."

Richard walked into the darkness, past the Energy Lab to the Queen K. He encountered a man on a cell phone on the side of the road. He asked the stranger to call his son and tell him that he wasn't sure he was going to make it. He told the stranger to tell his son to inform family and friends of the news and head back to the hotel. Richard continued in pain, shuffling in the direction of the finish line. Minutes later he heard someone yelling at him. It was the man with the cell phone. The man relayed this message from Richard's son: "You will make it back before the midnight cutoff!" "We are monitoring your progress and you need to pick up the pace and we'll see you at the finish!"

With a quarter mile to go, Richard's wife and son were waiting on the side of the road for him. They cheered him on and Richard's son ran next to him, encouraging him that he could do it. He would finish! Richard did finish. He was the last racer to finish in 2009, 48 seconds before the Kona Ironman cutoff!

Craig Alexander and Chrissie Wellington greeted the 65 year old Ironman with hugs. His family and friends and thousands of spectators cheering him as he crossed the line. It must have been incredible.

When you are out there, alone. Always remember that you are actually not alone at all. Your friends, family, training partners and competitors are with you. They have the power to inspire you, as much as your accomplishments inspire them!

183.4 or Under the Wire

Growing up, no one looked to me for math help. I decided as a youth that fun trumped math every time. I was not the sharpest compass in the desk drawer.  On Monday I used every bit of math skills I could recall from years long gone. The story problem this wannabe Ironman was asking himself was: How many times does Jason have to run around the Y's running track to complete his month's half-marathon? Here is what I knew; the track at the Y requires 14 laps on the outside lane to equal a mile and a half-marathon is 13.1 miles. My brain struggled with the puzzle. I decided a calculator could solve my problem, so I grabbed my iPod. I decided that if 14 laps = 1 mile, I could multiply 14 by 13.1 and get an answer to my story problem.

14 x 13.1 = 183.4

With this information tattooed to my brain, I took off for the Y. In one pocket was my trusty Ipod, in the other was the lap counter I use in the pool. It looks like a mini watch for your index finger.  In my hand was a 32 oz bottle filled with endurance fuel, orange flavored. In the lobby of the YMCA, I ran into one of my friends, Reese. I asked him what he was doing there, he replied "Racquetball." Reese is an awesome racquetball player, so good, when we play we don't need to keep score. He asked what I was doing there and I explained my plan. "How many laps is that?" "183.4." I replied. He asked me if I was off work on Tuesday. I said that I was, but this needed to be done in February, Not March! He looked at me as if I were crazy and then wished me luck.

I won't bore you with all the details, I finished and it was not fun! The track is shaped like a bean and has one really sharp turn. After 183 of these turns, certain parts of the body become quite irritated. The knees, the ankles, and the toes to name a few. I ran for nearly two hours, the group of runners surrounding me rotated out three or four or five times in that period. For about 20 laps I reversed directions when it was only me and one other woman on the track, that felt real nice. I watched my lap times fall from 34 seconds to 42 seconds in that two hours.

I have a goal to complete a half-marathon every month leading up to my Ironman attempt, so far I am two for two. This one was just under the wire since I am still recovering from an illness. Other than a sore knee, I have to say that I am feeling much better and am very pleased to be working out again. It was a full week I was off and I was starting to go a little crazy!

Here is a fun video that my triathlete friends and I enjoy very much, skip it if strong language offends you. I recommend watching it and laughing!

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. 

My Solo Half-Marathon

Two men started, one man finished.

My training partner and I took off on a 13.1 mile odyssey around 9:30 in the morning. After meeting at my house and getting in a good stretch we started our timing devices and hit play on the Ipods. We took off side by side, sloshing through the mushy and partially melting snow. We both knew that it would be the hardest test of this young 2011. We have both completed a half-marathon. I had actually completed four, one as the finale of my first 70.3 at Cedar point last fall. But early on Friday morning, I wasn't competing with my running partner, the athletes of Rev3 and my other half distance marathons, I was competing inside my own head.

Running that 13.1 was one of the hardest "events" I have done in a long time. Without other runners close by, it was a mental struggle to keep going. I was alone, very cold with wet feet, and carrying my hydration on my back. Running with a Camelbak was not fun for me. The route I had plotted was one six mile loop, one three mile loop repeated three times, and a 1/2 mile out and back that really made this one of the worst  courses ever! The course also included a couple long uphills, each repeated three times during the smaller  loops. I hope that makes sense, I can barely understand it and I designed it!

The most positive thing to come out of the experience was a running philosophy that I started to embrace. It was simple, run now, worrier about later then! What I mean is, if you can run in the moment, don't worry or think about ten miles in the future. Many times I have asked myself,  "How are you gonna keep this up for X more miles?" Friday I ran at a steady, conservative pace and focused on the moment and let the future unfold with every step. It worked for me, I will make it work again for sure.

I lost track of my running partner at the end of the six mile loop, I never saw him again. We run at different speeds and know to go look for one another after a certain time has passed on our regular bi-weekly runs. Friday would be unlucky for my buddy when he developed a headache mid-run and had to abandon with over half the distance already under his belt. He consistently finishes our runs, but just ran out of luck last Friday, it happens.

I was also suffering, mentally and physically. My right glute and hamstring were both bothering me and my wet feet were freezing cold! My left index finger was numb, it always gets numb when I run, but it was twice as bothersome on this run for sure. I was pretty miserable and just wanted to finish. As I started to get close to home I realized that the course was going to be very long, probably a half mile too long. I decided to stretch and walk the excess distance, instead of continuing running and possibly injuring the hammy or glute.

I finished and started to walk, but that was just not sitting well with me. I was too cold to walk so I ran anyways. It helped keep me warm and got me out of the elements a couple minutes sooner. It wasn't until I saw my buddy's car was gone that I knew only one man was finishing the 13.1 miles on the last Friday of January.

We plan on running a half on the last Friday of each month, and I am sure he will be finishing strong in February, I only hope I will as well, because January's was brutal!

Half-crazy

I had this crazy idea, at least it is crazy for me. In order to prepare mentally for the rigors of running a marathon at the end of a 2.4 mile swim and a 112 mile bike ride, I set a goal of running a half-marathon on the last Friday of each month leading up to my races in the Summer and Fall. Today is the last Friday of January.

This is me running in Tour de Ashland half-marathon.

I am not running alone this morning, I will be going out with my training partner Dan, who ran his first half in early December 2010. He and I run at least twice a week and circuit train twice a week too. We have a regular six mile route that takes us through several residential areas. It contains several long climbs that always seem to arise at the worst times. Today we will be climbing those hills three times. Our six mile route will contain in it an additional three mile route of the hilliest section, just because I am a little maniacal that way. That will total just about twelve miles, so I will need to figure something out for the last 1.1.

This is the first time I have run a half-marathon unsupported. That part is slightly scary. I will be carrying a small Camelbak filled with water. I will also be carrying some bars inside my coat. I think I will fuel up with some steel cut oatmeal and a fruit smoothie along with my daily supplements.

Sometimes I have a hard time believing that I can do things like a 13 mile run, it wasn't that long ago that I could not do a single mile! I feel so fortunate that I turned that corner! Maybe I am not so crazy, just very, very lucky!

Blowing it!

I am blowing it! I can not continue thinking it is only January and that I have plenty of time. In the last week I have worked out every day, sometimes multiple times on the same day. Just like last year when I worked out like a mad man, I am exercising to extremes but eating poorly and my diet is negating my workouts.

Since I started this blog I have put on two pounds! Unacceptable! I should have lost a pound or two, instead I am further from my sub-two hundred pound goal than I was a week ago. I know when this started too, It started last Sunday when I decided I wanted some "healthy treats' while I watched my beloved Steelers play the Jets. While shopping at the local grocery, I found a buy one, get one special on Flatouts flat bread used for wraps. Once I took advantage of the discount I had 12 wraps, probably more than I should eat in two weeks. I also bought some chopped rotisserie chicken from the deli and some mozzarella cheese. I took all the ingredients home and made a "healthy" pizza combined with some marinara sauce I had in the fridge.

By halftime I was standing in front of the stove waiting for the second pizza to finish being baked. Since Sunday I have eaten the same meal enough times that there are only five pieces of the bread left out of twelve. The Flatout bread was better choice than pizza crust, and the rotisserie chicken much better than pepperoni or sausage. But it is far less beneficial for me than say a tasty spinach salad with that same rotisserie chicken and some other veggies.

I have a little over the week to come up with something special to eat as I watch the Steelers trounce the Packers in the Super Bowl. When I figure out what that is I will share it here so we all can enjoy some real healthy fare and a Steelers win!

Snow Tired

I am weary of this snow. My buddy wrote a blog recently on how he wants to ride his bike but can't because of all this damn snow! I agree with him for that reason but the snow is spoiling my running as well. I am tired of running in the snow. Running in the snow is not fun, as a matter of fact I get quite annoyed!

I had to put sheet metal screws in the bottom of an old pair of Brooks for extra traction, the screws do help out a lot. The screws keep my footing solid as I run through the ice and snow. So far I have not felt any screws invade the cockpit of my sneakers and they show very little signs of wear other than a bit of rust. To make matters worse, I have to wear plastic grocery bags between my socks and shoes to keep my feet dry. The bags crackle every time my soles make contact with the not-so terra firma.

I miss my fartleks! It is all I can do to stay upright at an easy running pace, there is no way I could pick up my speeds with out sliding off the road and hitting guardrail, or going right of center as I run against traffic! Without the fartleks I just kinda lock in at an aerobic pace and put in base miles. Don't get me wrong, base miles are important but I want to feel like I am progressing, not just sustaining. Recently during an inside running workout I could not believe how much faster my pace was than it is outside. More than 30 seconds faster pace inside than out.

A week ago my training partner Dan and I went out on a day that we shouldn't have. There was just too much snow. Schools were canceled, cars were stuck everywhere, and snow plows were pushing the white stuff into monster piles. We started out but wisely adjusted our normal route for one that was slightly less perilous. We turned a six mile run into a four miler, but when we got back we felt like we had run ten. The snow was thick and deep and gave us quite a good workout.

I am going to have to cut this blog short, it is time to bag up the feet and slip on those Brooks:)

Check out my buddy's blog here

A little bit about me...

Hello. My name is Jason Molyet. I turned 40 years old recently and I am married with no children. Most of my life I have considered myself an overweight athlete. Maybe I am delusional, but I have always felt that I was 40-100 pounds away from being an exceptional athlete. Right now my "delusion" is that I am 40 pounds away from being the triathlete I desire to become. Part of the reason I am writing this blog is to chronicle my daily life and monitor the good AND bad habits that will factor in to me achieving my goal.


Officially my goal to lose weight and become the athlete I desired started in 2008 after making a deal with my boss at work. I am a photojournalist at a mid-sized newspaper. I proposed writing a daily blog, narrating my efforts to get in shape for a 230 mile, 5 day tour through the mountains of Virginia on the Blue Ridge Parkway. This five day ride included 5 mile climbs with almost 100 pounds of gear towed on trailers behind our bikes. Our bike trailers contained our food and drink, our tents and sleeping bags, and a spare of just about anything that could break on a bike. I am happy to report that I completed that adventure and had an amazing time that I will never forget! I lost about 45 pounds getting ready for that trip.


Later I made another deal with my boss. I would continue my blog, this time my goal would be to complete a half distance marathon in December of 2008. Once again I blogged everyday and completed my goal. I don't remember my time, but it was over two hours, something like 2:10 or maybe even a couple minutes more. I didn't care about my time, I was just tickled that I was able to finish that grueling event! I have completed that half marathon two more times and knocked over 20 minutes off that first effort.

This is me after finishing the Rev3 and me
before I started blogging and losing weight.

In 2009 I asked my boss if I could extend my blog again. This didn't take much convincing since my prior blog was honored with the award of "Best Blog" for the state of Ohio by the Associated Press. This time I would challenge the hills of Mohican in a 100K mountain bike race. The race called the Mohican 100 boasted 11,000 feet of climbing through some of the steepest, rootiest, rockiest terrains in the area. That race challenged my mind and muscles more than anything I had done to that point. With five miles left I lost my rear derailleur and chain to a tree branch. I had to run an push my bike across the finish line.


In 2010 I brought my blog back again, this time to document my attempt at becoming a triathlete. It was the most rewarding experience of all the above. I never felt like a the climber I needed to be in Virginia, and I am certainly not the runner I wanted to be in the half-marathon. Mountain biking is fun and an incredible workout, but I am never  too comfortable on knobby tires, ducking under branches, and turning up switchbacks in my granny-gears. Being a triathlete feels right. I love the many facets of the sport. I love its extreme nature. The people I have met are the most positive and impressive people, they don't set limits on themselves, and the sky is the limit in their minds. I have only competed in one half-ironman, but it was one of the best days of my life!


As I write this blog, I am training to compete in a full ironman in September. My last weigh in I was 238.8 pounds. I can't tell you what my ideal race weight is. I am 6 foot 3 inches and have a pretty large frame. My gut (no pun intended) tells me that I should be under 200, maybe 185-195 on race day. I am going to see how close I can get to that before September, I should have plenty of time to lose it safely and responsibly with diet and exercise. 

Half is not Enough!

This morning I was running inside after finishing an especially grueling spinning workout at the Y. I was thinking about how much fun I was having running around that bean-shaped track. It occurred to me how far I have come in the last few years. I should be fairly proud of the advances I have made to my health and conditioning, and to some degree I am proud. Still, there is so much more I want and need to accomplish!

J.J. Molyet finishes half-distance at Rev3.

I wouldn't mind being half a millionaire, half my age, or half my weight when I am ascending some of the climbs in the area. Being half an Ironman is not enough for me. I want the whole enchilada. Unfortunately, eating too many "whole enchiladas" is part of my problem, but I will save that issue for another blog. Preceding some of my biggest accomplishments with the word "half" is getting really old! I want to be full, whole, and complete! "Half,"just doesn't have the uuuumph that someone that desires extremes needs. I want to sit back in my recliner, on my next birthday, and know that I am an Ironman!

In September 2010 I did complete a half-distance ironman race at Rev3 Cedar Point in Sandusky, Ohio. I trained like crazy for the event, I was dedicated to finishing that race. I was terrified in the months leading up to the event. Terrified because of the unknown. Now I have a completed race in my back pocket, a finishers medal hangs proudly in my home. The accomplishment on that special day seems small to me now that I have a full-distance race coming up in eight months. What once seemed like an impossible achievement, now seems like a cute little task performed on a sunny Sunday afternoon. 

I think I will always lean towards the half-distance races in the future, they seem reasonable for someone with a full-time job and in a marriage. But at least once in my life I hope to go all the way, be one of the big boys, and experience the glory only those that go 140.6 miles can experience!