EverymanTri.com

Craigslist for dummies

I stole this from Cyclofiend.

It is an essential guide for anybody who has ever purchased a bike on craigslist.com.

Check out Cyclofiend for everything you ever wanted to know about bikes.

A Quick Guide to Craigslist Bicycles For Sale Ad Terminology:

Stated = Reality

Classic = Rusted
Retro = Dirty and Rusted
Vintage = Dirty, Rusted, Missing Parts - Found in Parents' Storage Unit
Unique = I found lots of extra parts in my parents' garage and made this bike
Racing Bike = Stem shifters, brakes with "safety" levers, huge pie-plate steel spoke protector.
Italian Race Bike = 70's Bike Boom model from Taiwan with a low-end Campy derailleur
Classic French Design = No shop within 800 miles of you will have compatibly sized or threaded parts
Super Light Race Bike = 10 year old Cannondale road frame with a closeout mail-order carbon fork swaged into the headset
80's Vintage Race Bike = It will feature the most amazing combination of incompatibly hued paint you have ever seen
Tall Road Bike = Wow, this must be for someone who's, like almost 6 feet tall!
Old-School Track Bike = Schwinn Varsity with a sprocket force-threaded onto the rear hub
Hardcore Pista, used twice = Email responses only, my jaw is still wired
Cross Bike with Classic Parts = Three season old Cross Bike (which age in dog-years) with all the worn-out parts left from the last upgrade
Never Raced = Last number still zip-tied to top tube
Works = I mean, I haven't actually looked at it, but I remember someone rode it once
Race-Ready = Rattles like hell
Serviceable = Chain is rusted solid
Needs New Tires = Tires need air
Recently Tuned = Used half a can of 3in1 Oil on the chain
A few nicks = dents deep enough to hold water
A few scratches = Major Chainsuck bites that have been wrapped with duct tape
Needs some TLC = Major Resto Project that will bleed you dry
Project Bike = Run Away, Run Away!
Need to Sell = Don't want to sell, so I'm asking $50 under original retail

Shidoobeedoobee

My father-in-law likes to say of politicians, “They are all just a bunch of crooks.”

I have this uneasy feeling that this statement comes from too many years of experience with the local elected officials.

Anyway, that’s kind of the way I now feel about the boys on the Tour de France. They are all just a bunch of dopers.

By now I’m sure you’ve heard of the three ring doping circus that has enveloped this year’s tour culminating with the yellow jersey being kicked off his team and out of the race.

My bike sponsor, BMC, is now rethinking its sponsorship of Team Astana because of Vino’s recent positive steroid test results. Please don’t tell them that I’ve been using rare Peruvian high altitude Monkey roids for the last few months to boost my race performance. They work great except that I now have an uncontrollable urge to scratch my balls and throw shidoobeedoobee.

Seriously, this year’s anything but clean tour bodes well for teams like raceAthlete as we continue to pioneer age-group professional sponsorships. We may not win many (if any) races but we are completely clean in our efforts to place at least one or two teammates right at tip of the middle of the pack.

As I went to sleep last night dreaming of moving up from the back of the pack to the middle of race with the help of my rare Peruvian monkey powder, I could not help but wonder about the future of the sport of cycling.

I recently heard a an NPR interview with Floyd Landis where he tried to defend himself from his doping charges by saying that the entire drug testing system was to blame for his woes.

His solutions: 1) form a cyclist union to help better control the invasive and pesky random drug testing and 2) have the cycling union pull out of the Olympics so that riders would not have to conform to the Olympic drug testing rules.

I almost fell from my chair when he said this. Talk about some big testosterone balls. That would be like getting caught with your hand in the cookie jar and telling your mom that not only should she do away with the jar, but that you won’t do your homework until she gives you all of the cookies.

He went on to complain about how unfair it is that professional cyclists have to make their whereabouts known at all times of the year because they are subject to random drug testing.

Hey Floyd here’s something that really unfair. How about working at Starbucks for about $10 an hour and than being told by your manager after a very long shift of standing on your feet to go clean out the bathroom because somebody had a particularly nasty accident in the toilet.

I can’t help but feel that this brazen attitude toward drug testing as exemplified by Landis and now Rasumssen (he couldn’t be bothered to tell the cycling federation of his whereabouts for his scheduled drug testing per the governing laws) is the legacy of the Armstrong years.

I find it especially ironic how Rassumussen tried to use the same Armstrong defense when asked about his missed test. His answer, like Armstrong’s in the past, was that he has been tested numerous times and never found to be using drugs….so this must (by implication) prove that he is, and has always, been clean.

So let me get this straight, just because you are rich enough and/or clever enough to hire the best docs that can mask your drug use and/or develop designer steroids (like the BALCO debacle) that have no known test this definitely proves that you are clean.

In other words, if you get tested and don’t get caught, this proves that you are and have been completely clean. Even though countless cyclists have been busted not by the drugs in their bodies but by the drugs in their doctors, coaches or team’s office, suitcase or bus.

Wow, now that takes some real steroids to say in public.

All of this in the end begs one huge question that Armstrong has yet to answer to many people’s satisfaction.

How did a “clean” athlete win the Tour seven times when all indications point to the fact that every cyclist who has recently worn the yellow jersey, or won a stage, or won the tour by supper human efforts (Landis, Vino, Rassumussen) has indeed used super human efforts?

There are only two possible answers:

1) Armstrong is such a phenomenal athlete that even at his natural best he can easily and decisively beat most of the world’s best doped up cyclist seven years in a row or…
2) That as the world’s richest and smartest and most successful cyclist, he has access to the world’s richest and smartest and most successful doctors.

The choice is yours, but I have suspicious feeling that when it comes to Armstrong’s Legacy in the complete book of cycling, the final chapter has yet to be written.

And the Pros make it look so easy

After riding in the Colorado Mountains for just over 350 miles, I certainly don't look anything like the boys on the Tour.

In fact, over the last week I've climbed 10 mountain passes with something like 10 million feet of elevation gain, consumed 20 gallons of Nuun, climbed to over 11,000 feet over and over again with 3 consecutive days of pure cycling pain.

Believe me you don't even want to know about the two huge bike seat hickeys on my red and swollen monkey butt...and no I'm not in heat.

The good news is that it was all for a great cause. If you ever have the chance to ride the Denver Children's Hospital Courage Classic...do it.

Not only is it the best supported, most scenic and friendly bike ride that I've ever done, but it all goes to help sick kids get better. For me that's a worth every hickey and sore muscle on my body.

I wish I had some nifty heart rate, altitude, power output, or even Google Earth charts to show you.

Instead, I just have this picture after my second Mountain Century Ride in one week. Please notice the lovely helmet hair that was all of the fashion for the hardcore cyclist.

How many more days until Ironman Wisconsin?

As of today the lovely rolling hills of Madison hold no dread for me. I'm just happy to be done with the slightly bigger hills (please insert you own over confident smirk here) of Colorado.

My First Triple Bypass (Part 2)

Why do they call it the Triple Bypass?

That’s what I kept wondering as I flew down the backside of Loveland Pass.

There really is no feeling like descending fast on a bike after a huge climb. You really feel like you’ve just sprouted wings. After hours of slogging it up hill at some ridiculously tedious and painfully slow pace (in fact, I do believe a very energetic inch worm passed me as I plodded up the pass), the descent feels like you are an immediate contender to win the Tour de France.

I was flying down the hill, but a small voice in the back of my mind kept screaming to slow down. It was almost 10 years ago that I had done this very same descent for the first time on my mountain bike retrofitted with street tires. It was my first taste of mountain riding. I just climbed the hardest pass of my life so I was jubilant to be flying down this very same road tucked into a very precarious and very silly aero position on a bike designed for mountain trials, and not fast descents.

It was just before a very dangerous and steep curve that I heard a sound that at first meant nothing to me, but today scares the hell out of me. It was loud pop or ping…almost a muffled shot gun blast. I was descending at about 45-miles-an hour heading toward a curve with a thousand foot drop just past the stubby guard rail.

Immediately my bike started to buck and bob like a crazed bull with a hornet in its ear. The back end of the bike wobbled so furiously that my vision blurred. I jumped on the brakes and the rear one pulsated as it caught and released in a frantic attempt to slow the bike down.

The only thing that saved my life that day (for I was heading straight for the guardrail and there was no doubt in my mind that I would catapult over it and into the valley thousands of feet below) was the fact that the spoke that popped was on my back wheel.

If you have ever had a spoke break you’ll know that in an instant the wheel goes out of true. This is usually a minor problem, but when you are flying down a mountain on a mountain bike with well over two hundred pounds on it the wheel can easily pancake. This recently happened to a friend of mine who did not walk away from the fall.

I was so very lucky that it was the rear wheel and that I was able to use the front break to stop just inches from the guardrail of doom. As I now flew down this very same road, this frightening scenario kept replaying in my head over and over again. By the third showing I was on my brakes. I suspect that it is the ability to ignore that little screaming voice in the back of the head that either crushes or creates some of the greatest cyclist in the world.

This Tour wannabe was all over the brakes. I had nothing to prove and two significant mountain passes still looming in my future.

They officially call it Swan Mountain Pass on the road sign but for some reason the organizers of the Triple Bypass have completely ignored it in their marketing. It comes between Loveland Pass and Vail Pass, but you’ll hear no mention of it in the official tile of the ride as in Quadruple Bypass.

Why not?

I suspect that it would be the straw that would break the camels back for many riders when signing up for the ride. “Sure honey, I think I can do three mountain passes and 120-miles in the saddle,” the conversation might go. But four mountain passes, well that’s just one too many.

And that’s exactly how I was feeling climbing up Swan Mountain Pass. I was ready for Vail Pass, but instead I had to climb this bonus pass. Which would normally not be a big deal, but when you are blown, cracked, exploded like a walnut dropped on a busy semi truck clogged interstate, even a small hill is a problem. A small Mountain Pass might as well be the summit of Everest.

There comes a point for us hairy legged everyman (and I suspected even shaved legged everywoman) in any long ride when the legs explode. The symptoms are simple and straightforward. One of the large muscle groups in the legs cramps up to the point of immobility. Oh yes...and it hurts like hell.

The muscles just cramped up and stubbornly refuse to move. They let you know they mean business by sending waves of painful stabbing agony into your brain when you try to so much as unlock or twitch the seized up muscle group.

This happened to the muscles on the inside of my thighs on the way up Loveland Pass. Funny thing that; I didn’t even know that I had muscles on the inside of my thighs.

Now these same muscles were just screaming at me again saying if I even so much as try to put down any serious power they would go on strike and stand at rigid attention until I got into the nearest Sag Wagon.
So it was only with kind and very gentle persuasion that I was able to coax them up and over Swan Mountain Pass. By the time I got to the second to last rest stop at the bottom of the pass I was ready to call it a day. But in for a dime, in for a dollar, as I like to say. So I got back on the bike and headed out.

Needless to say by this point (some 85-miles and 8 hours into the ride) my ass was on fire and I was running on pure stubborn determination. I had my head down and I was now on this death ride to the very end. You know when you get into that mental zone when nothing matters but the finish. In fact I was so into the zone that a car crash on the road next to me didn’t even garner my attention. I heard the skid followed by the sound of crunching plastic and metal and looked up as two cars collided in a nasty fender bender.

I just put my head down and kept pedaling. There were tons of police all around and besides the only thing I could have done at that moment was to stop, and tumble from the bike like a newly cut tree, and hope that someone would stand me back up, while I tried not to add to the carnage.

With the accident behind me I now had about a 15 mile climb to the top of the last pass. Vail Pass loomed in my future Moby Dick…huge, frightening and unconcerned.

I began the assent in earnest at Copper Mountain. I had climbed this pass from the Copper side many times. It usually takes about a half hour and makes for a very pleasant ride next to a babbling stream. Happy-go-lucky vacationers stroll up and down the pass taking in the massive mountain vistas while breathing in the hundreds of intoxicating wild flower fragrances.

I didn’t see any of this. All I saw was the cement path about three feet in front of me. I begged, pleaded, and extorted my thigh muscles to just keep clicking over. I was now in the home stretch of the death ride and all I had to do was make it to the aid station at the top of the pass. Mercifully the organizers had put the last aid station about twenty miles from Avon. The rest of the ride was all downhill from that aid station at the top of Vail Pass.

All I had to do was make it to the top of the pass and I could coast to the finish. I knew from prior experience that the last quarter mile of the path kicks up viciously and no matter how much I wished it were not so, the path had indeed not changed. About an eighth of a mile from the summit the pass took an especially nasty left turn skyward and my legs called it quits.

That was it they said and cramped up solid like titanium. I just stood there mortified straddling my bike and watched the other riders crest the hill and stop at the aid station. I didn’t know what to do. There was no way I could get back on my bike, clip in, and continue up the hill. So I did the only thing left to me. I dismounted and goose stepped up the hill like a Nazi marching on parade before WWII dragging my bike behind me. I was embarrassed, but I was not able to bend my knees…but I was also not defeated.

When the road evened out a bit I was able to get back on the bike and climb the last few hundred feet the aid station which was just one parking lot level from the tippy top of Vail Pass.

I took on some more water and waited for the rest of the raceAthlete gang to join me. The had waited a bit longer at the previous rest stop to group up while I had gone ahead knowing they would catch me.

When they did we rode as a group to the very top of Vail Pass. This is where I almost puked. The tiny amount of effort to just ride that last little bit was a climb to far. My body was spent and I knew it. I felt like I had just completed and Ironman and now I was feeling weak, sick and all I wanted to do was lay down under a shady tree.

And this is exactly what I did when I finally coasted to the finish in Avon. Actually, I first loaded up my plate with chicken and a burger at the after ride feed. Unfortunately while my mind thought I was hungry my body refused to eat. I took a bite of the burger and a bite of chicken and just chewed at it. All I wanted to do was lay down and rest and stop moving and not puke.

It was the same look I saw on many a face next to me. Sure, there were plenty of people sitting on the grass in the setting sun munching on burgers and chatting about the day’s adventures. But there were just as many laying in the shade with that “I will not puke” look that comes from over exertion and too much sun.

Post Script: My mom picked me up and drove me back to my car some 120 miles away. To get to her car on the bike path I had to climb what I could best describe as a half story mound, miniature hill, or an overly ambitious bump in the path.

I walked up it.

After climbing for just under 10 hours with a total day’s adventure time of 12 hours, I could not mentally or physically stomach another hill.

Race for 24-hours and get expensive new running shoes

Recently I had the chance to interview Ian Adamson, the race director of the 24-hours of Triathlon,

Click HERE for that Interview.

Today he announced an interesting and unprecedented bonus for every entry this year.

It may be a tough way to get some expensive shoes, but a great deal never-the-less.

July 18, 2007 (Boulder, Colo.) -24 Hour Events and Newton Running are pleased to announce an unprecedented race entry giveaway. As part of its title sponsorship, Newton Running will supply a pair of its Distance race shoes, valued at $155, to every participant in the Newton 24 and 8 Hours of Triathlon and Duathlon races, which take place September 1-2, 2007 in Denver.

"We had really great goody bags for all our racers last year, but getting free shoes with your race entry is unheard of," says Ian Adamson, event director and seven-time world champion adventure racer. "Newton is demonstrating an unparalleled level of support for our race."

All racers will get to choose between the Newton Distance, an ultralight, neutral racing shoe or the Distance S, a stability racing shoe. Both Distance models feature Newton's proprietary, patented Active Membrane Technology™ and they offer enough protection to run fast-paced, long training runs but are light and reliable enough to race everything from 5K to marathon races.

"We have professional triathletes from around the world wearing our shoes, but we're just as excited for recreational athletes to enjoy the benefits of our technology," states Newton Running president and co-founder, Jerry Lee. "24 Hours of Triathlon is a terrific grass roots event for athletes of all abilities and we're proud to support it."

Competitors who sign up for the Newton 24 Hours of Triathlon and the Newton 24 Hours of Duathlon races before August 4 will have their shoes shipped to them at no cost. After August 4, shoes will only be available at registration the day of the race. Competitors in the 8 Hours of Triathlon or 8 Hours of Duathlon races will also only be able pick up their shoes at registration. Newton is also offering a $20 discount to all racers for a second pair of shoes to be purchased during the race weekend.

In its second year, the Newton 24 Hours of Triathlon and Duathlon will take place at Denver's Cherry Creek State Park. In the race, teams and individual competitors race repeatedly over a short course triathlon (0.5 mile swim - 11 mile bike - 3 mile run) or duathlon (11 mile bike - 3 mile run) for eight or 24 hours. Athletes can alternate the swim - bike - run order after the first lap. Teams and solos "bank" as many legs in each discipline as possible, with an ultimate goal to complete the most triathlons or duathlons. For more information on the race, visit www.24hoursoftriathlon.com.

My First Triple Bypass

It all happened in slow motion so it seemed completely unreal. Unfortunately the embarrassment that soon followed was all too real.

I was climbing as well as a 220 pound guy can climb up a steep mountain pass about 60-miles into Colorado’s infamous Triple Bypass yearly bike ride.

I still had another 60-miles to go to complete the ascent and descent of three very long and steep mountain passes to get to the finish line in Avon, Colorado. I reached into my back pocket to get a gel when I lost concentration and dropped with a thud from the road like an over ripe apple onto the loose sand they were using to pad the new tarmac.

One second I was climbing and the next I was lying on the side of the road like beached whale still clipped into my pedals. About every two seconds a rider would yell out, “Are you OK?,” as I struggled to free my bound feet.

I was totally fine except for the fact that I couldn’t get free from my shackle-like clips. I had just taken the world’s slowest fall into the world’s softest sand. It was like plopping into fresh powder, except warmer and much more embarrassing.

After struggling for about 5 minutes like an unturned turtle I figured out it was easier just to slip out of my shoes and be done with it.

Standing only in my socks by the side of the road I was happy to have restored what little dignity I still had left as I got back on my road bike for the rest of this crazy adventure.

When I first moved to Colorado I had of course heard about the Triple Bypass. It was a legendary ride for a few crazy types who were willing to try to ride just over 120 miles with three mountain passes and over 10,000 feet of elevation gain. Just to put it into perspective that’s about the average day in the Alps for the boys on the Tour de France.

And just to put it into even more perspective please note that I don’t and indeed have never shaved my legs. That’s about the level of rider I am when compared to the serious cyclist.

I knew I was in for a long hard day when I started the ride at 6:30 a.m. with a nice steep 2-hour warm up climb to the top of the first pass. There was no dinner, no foreplay, no pleasant conversation…just a sharp right turn after I mounted my bike and right into the granny gear. In fact, I have never before in my life spent so much time in such a teeny tiny gear.

As much as I love my BMC Time Machine, this was no time to for bravery so I wisely opted to ride my Giant road bike with a triple gear for the Triple Bypass. I did see one guy (from Manchester, England as it turned out) on a triathlon Scott time trial bike, but he was not nearly as amused as I was by his valiant struggle up the mountains.

I reached the top of the first Pass at 8:30 a.m. feeling pretty proud and smug. I had now covered about the first 12 miles of the ride in just under two hours. When I did the math my heart sank, I was averaging just about 6-miles-hour. Let’s keep this perspective train rolling. The boys on the tour climbed two very similar mountains in the Alps today and the leaders averaged about 39-kilometers an hour…which is about 1 million more miles an hour than I could ever dream about.

Well there was nothing I could do about it but fill up my empty water bottles and begin the long descent to Idaho Springs. That part was easy. Now I’m sure that no one would ever mistake me for a contender for the “King of the Mountains” polka dot jersey. I’m not small, I’m not thin, I’m certainly not Columbian and I’m certainly not dancing on my bike as I struggle up even the smallest grade.

I can, however descend like the wind. All that weight and bulk that are such a huge anchor on the climb magically turn into a powerful booster rocket on the descent. Usually very few cyclists can pass me on a downhill unless I sit up and let them. So naturally I really love this part of the mountain rides. Unfortunately, in the mountains, what goes down has to go up. All too soon I was climbing again and this time up I-70 toward Loveland Pass.

This is by far the worst stretch of the Triple Bypass as all two thousand riders must negotiate about a 5-mile stretch of the highway just before the Loveland Ski area. And this part of the ride is not only dangerous, as cars whizz by at over seventy miles an hour, but also smelly and dirty, as huge semitrailer trucks and overloaded RV’s struggle up toward the Eisenhower Tunnel spewing huge clouds of spent diesel fuel.

It came as a great relief when I saw the exit toward Loveland Pass because I knew the highway would soon be behind me and the lunch stop lay just minutes ahead.

Lunch was fast PB and J sandwich followed by a few slices of watermelon. I really wish the organizers of such epic rides took the lead from Ironman and provided some Coke or Pepsi at these rest stops. For me nothing tops the tank up on a huge effort quite like a bit of cold sugar water with massive amounts of caffeine.

I stopped drinking soda a few years ago because it really is a huge and needless sugar bomb when combined with a typical lunch or dinner, but during an Ironman or Epic ride a huge sugar bomb fortified with caffeine is just what my body craves.

Instead I filled up my water bottle with water and plopped in a Nuun tablet. When I was first sponsored by Nuun I wasn’t really sure of how my body would react to the new stuff, but over the last several months I have really come to appreciate the ease and convenience of the little tablets. Unlike the mystery aide drink they had on the ride, the Nuun is always the right consistency and taste. When they mix up the power drinks at the rest stop they always seem to use different amounts of powder and this means that sometimes it taste just right but most times it is either too strong or too week.

I actually used up an entire bottle of Nuun tablets on the ride, and I was so happy to have such a convenient and personal supply of my very own perfect hydration mix.

After recovering from my fall, I met up with some of the other brave raceAthletes at the top of Loveland pass. It was so nice to see a few friendly faces among the sea of strangers. That’s really one of the greatest parts of team raceAthlete…the ability to show up at a race or a ride and know that you have somebody to share your pain and/or joy.

I was now just over halfway through the ride. In fact I had finished the hardest part of the ride. What I didn’t know was that the Triple Bypass would throw me a bit of curve.

Next time I take on the rest of the Quadruple Bypass as I head for the finish line in Avon.

Top 10 Ways to Suck at Your Next Race (Part 2)

In my never ending quest to help you avoid all of my painful, embarrassing and hard earned lessons, here are the Top 5 Ways to Suck at Your Next Race. Now keep in mind that I have attended the University of Suckology and that I do have a PHD in the many and various disciples that it takes to really blow up during a race. So please before you try this at home I suggest that you consult your local community college and look into at least the rudimentary course work needed to start the long road my level of expertise.

Top 10 Ways to Suck at Your Next Race

Just to keep it honest, I must admit that I have countless years of experience at sucking come race day. So please note that these Top Ten Tips don’t just come from your average Joe DNF. No they don’t! Indeed, if they offered a technical degree in RDS (Race Day Suckage), I would be not only be the student, but the professor, dean and trustee of the USDS (The University of Race Day Suckage)

10. Try something crazy and few just minutes before the race

Midweek Swim Humor

Happy 4th of July: Train Hard and Race Safe!

Ironman; Forged by Adversity

This week on raceAthlete.com we’ll be featuring the stories of several athletes who, for various reasons, were unable to complete the recent Ironman at Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.

I find their stories to be truly amazing and in many ways much more inspirational than the stories featured on the Kona NBC broadcast.

To start with I can really relate to having to drop out of a race as I did so in my first half Ironman attempt.

But more importantly I think that you learn much more about yourself from adversity than you do from victory. I don’t mean to devalue the courage and effort it takes to cross the line before midnight at any Ironman race, but sometimes it takes just as much courage effort to keep going knowing that your goal is slipping (or has completely slipped) out of your grasp.

A good friend of mine and local running and triathlon coach Scott Fliegelman dropped out of IMCDA after the bike. He was trying to qualify for Kona, but he spent almost an hour trying to change a flat tire. This completely devastated his race day strategy and left him without a real goal of reason to finish. Below is just a short excerpt from his frustrating race day experience:

I continued pedaling, eating, and drinking my way back to the start of lap #2 without catching anyone I knew, but did see Garry and Neil heading back out looking strong. I didn’t see Liz or Mary or JJ or Heidi or any of our cheering section (aka Iron Sherpas) on my way through town (although they did see me and cheered loudly) and forged on for what would be a long, and mentally challenging 56-mile lap. I picked up my “special needs” bag at mile 63, and instead of switching out the bottles on the fly as I planned, I decided I could spare the time to stop and do so more carefully, and while I was at it use the port-o-let that was nearby instead of going while on the bike as I’d done in the past, and then I chatted briefly with a friendly volunteer, and did some light stretching…

And that was the beginning of the end right there I tried convincing myself that I was doing a really big, really well supported, really expensive group workout… or that I was going to conserve my energy and run a legendary marathon… or that I could play cheerleader for the athletes I was passing at a far less frequent rate than before, but when it all came down to it, the Ironman is really, really hard and you must be 100% focused and committed in order to fight through the pain and even complete the distance. I believe that it is equally arduous for the sub 9-hour pro and the 15-hour first timer, and now I was somewhere in between the two… a “no man’s land” with a silver lining which I could not reveal for myself.

Despite having coached 1,000’s of athletes to “find comfort in discomfort”; a concept where you welcome the familiar sensations that reinforce that you are indeed doing exactly what is necessary to reach desired goals, I could only find “discomfort in discomfort” each time I checked. I was still eating and drinking on schedule and physically had plenty left in the tank, but emotionally I was near complete exhaustion as I cautiously went through the motions on the hills and twisty roads between miles 75-100.

I began to negotiate with myself about the meaning of the upcoming 26.2 mile run. I came up with several reasons to do it, and several more against the idea, and allowed the two opposing camps to battle it out in my brain as I rode slower and slower back toward T2. The reasons “for” included: respecting the sport, setting a good example for F4 athletes to persevere despite adversity, getting to the bottom of my fitness (even if I didn’t meter it out as evenly as I planned between the sports), and not “raining on the parade” for my friends competing that day… many for the first time. The arguments against included: being utterly exhausted mentally from dealing with nearly 90 miles of riding on a sketchy spare tire and trying not to fracture my hip, saving my legs the three weeks recovery they would need from the marathon and therefore moving right into XTERRA training mode with the possibility of qualifying for Worlds in Maui (not a bad back up to Kona), not having fun any longer, and lastly, my Mom and Dad would’ve definitely wanted me to stop!

When I finally committed to the decision to drop out after the bike, it was a decision I made 100% for myself, and with a few days now to reflect on it… it was the right choice. It came down to this…
By deciding to “give up”, I feel I still showed respect to the sport and my fellow competitors by demonstrating just how difficult it is to complete an Ironman, and that every athlete who did so on the day, whether more or less gifted than I, should feel incredibly proud of their accomplishment. I now know that the next time I persevere, fight through pain, and overcome a major obstacle, it will mean that much more to me as it will not be easy, or automatic, or taken for granted, or even smart, but I’ll do it because it helps shape who I am and who I strive to be as an athlete.

You may recall Trish Downing from last year’s Kona coverage or from my recent podcast. Trish Downing, a paraplegic athlete, is the second female wheelchair racer (first female paraplegic) to complete an Iron distance triathlon (Redman Triathlon 2005...finishing time 18:03). She is a member of the physically challenged National Triathlon Team and a pioneer in women’s wheelchair triathlon.

She also competed at IMCDA this year and had to drop out on the bike portion of the race. She is still striving to get the one paraplegic athlete slot for Kona. The ugly swim conditions combined with the hilly bike portion made for a tough day for her. Here's a short excerpt from her race report

When I got on my bike, I was still feeling fairly optimistic. I knew I wasn’t in great shape because my swim was even slower than Hawaii, but I wasn’t throwing up salt water, so I figured that had me a bit ahead of the
game as compared to Kona. I also knew I had a lot of climbing ahead of me.

The beginning of the race was about a 10-mile out and back that went through town and along the lake. Although it had a bit of minor climbing, it was nothing compared to what I had coming ahead. I really had to keep my speed up because I learned in the race meeting the night before that I had to be
in from the first loop (56 miles) of the bike by 1:30. Otherwise, I wouldn’t make the time cut. That was different from Kona where they just let you go as far as you can in 10.5 hours and THEN cut you. I was feeling pretty beat from the swim, but the first part of the bike went well. After about 15 or
20 miles though, the whole story changed. I knew there were hills out there, we had driven the course, but they never look as bad from the car.

We counted about seven MAJOR climbs (short but steep) from the car, but it seemed when I was out there, that everything was uphill. It reminded me of one of the last training rides I did in Colorado…the Elephant Rock. That is one of the hardest rides I’ve ever done (and I’ve only done up to the 50-mile ride, never the century), but when I did that ride a few weeks ago, I thought to myself, “there’s no way Idaho is going to be this hard.”

Well…surprise, surprise, it WAS that hard. In fact, on one hill, when I was moving at approximately 2 mph, there was a cyclist at the side of the road, dressed in a racing jersey, but obviously a spectator and not a racer, and he said to me, “didn’t I just see you a couple of weeks ago at Elephant
Rock?” I was surprised, a Colorado guy, but all I could say to him was, “yes that was me and this race sucks as bad as that ride!” He just laughed as I pulled away.

It was nice along the route to have some screaming downhills…I think I got up to 35 or 40mph a couple of times, but on the flip side, I also saw my computer register “0” mph once or twice as I inched up a hill. Needless to say, I knew I wasn’t going to make the time cut. The difference in Idaho however was that I couldn’t have continued after one loop if I wanted to. My cold was back in full force, I was exhausted and I simply didn’t have anything left in the tank. When I got picked up in Hawaii I was moving at
the fastest pace I had gone all day. When I pulled into transition at C d’A, Neal and Steve had to pull like a rag doll from my handcycle, I gave a farewell interview to the camera that had been following me for the day and I turned in my chip.

We'll be featuring the entire race reports on raceAthlete.com this week. Sometimes it is easy to forget that we all have our own challenges to overcome. It can be something as straightforward as trying to qualify for Kona or something as unusual and difficult as trying to do it without the use of your legs.

But whatever your own personal challenge these stories illustrate that just getting to the starting line is truly 99 percent of the battle.

Tour History

With the Tour De France (and a potential doping announcement ) just a few days away I thought it would be good time to highlight an excerpt from a new book I'm reading.

In his new book, "From Lance to Landis" (available now), author David Walsh follows the trail of r-EPO, or recombinant erythropoietin, from its development in the 1980s as a treatment for anemia to the heart of Armstrong's U.S. Postal and Discovery teams.

In this excerpt from Walsh's book, the author tells the story of Frankie Andreu, who was Armstrong's Postal teammate from 1998-2000, and his decision to finally cross the line and use r-EPO.
rmstrong

From Lance to Landis

The second time Frankie Andreu cracked, it was a more serious matter.

It happened in the aftermath of the Festina doping scandal of July 1998. Some riders didn't think that was much of a scandal at all. Festina had got caught with drugs. Their problem. Others saw it as the shuddering collision with reality needed to make the sport recognize its pervasive doping culture. Andreu was in that camp. Through the mid-1990s, he saw the way racing changed and heard all the talk about r-EPO. He tried not to believe the worst of it and said it was hard to separate rumor from fact. Riders were always convinced the guy on the other team was doing it but no one was coming forward with his hand up. Yet he couldn't delude himself -- r-EPO worked, it was undetectable, and the UCI's decision to impose short-term suspensions on those with hematocrits exceeding 50 made it seem all right to use the drug up to the 50 threshold. He thought of it as legalized doping.

But he wasn't going to get too down about it. Through the days of rampant abuse in the mid-1990s, he didn't do r-EPO, but that was OK, he wasn't paid to win and he could do his équipier's job without the drug. Instead of worrying about others, he concentrated on what he could control. Prepare properly, ride hard, give everything, and accept the results that follow. In a curious way, it was easier to do this riding for the U.S. Postal Service team. [Lance] Armstrong expected team riders to be just that, team riders. There was one leader, him, and for anyone else to think of personal glory was an affront to the ethos of the team. In return, Armstrong won when it mattered and his équipiers made good money. From Andreu's point of view, it was a fair exchange.

But when the Festina guys got found out, he thought things would change. Surely no sport could just carry on in the old way after police searches revealed widespread doping. It wasn't just Festina; Spain's No. 1 team, ONCE, was accused of dealing in drugs; suspicions existed about many other teams; and one rider, Rodolfo Massi, was arrested on suspicion of supplying drugs to his fellow riders on the French-based Casino team. Massi would eventually be acquitted of all charges but the suspicions and arrests were destroying cycling's credibility. "The sport," said Tour de France chief Jean-Marie Leblanc, "needs a new morality." Through the winter of 1998, that became Frankie Andreu's hope.

Frankie Andreu admitted to using r-EPO leading up to the 1999 Tour de France.

Believing change was necessary wasn't enough to bring it about. There was still no test to detect r-EPO or human growth hormone, and if used in a measured way, other drugs were difficult to find. What Andreu realized in the early races of the 1999 season was that nothing had, in fact, changed. Well, one thing had changed: even among themselves, riders became more cautious when speaking about doping. Willy Voet and Festina, the villains of the previous summer, were not spoken about, and the legacy of the Festina scandal was greater secrecy. The law of silence was reinforced, and lacking the will to learn from the mistakes of the past, the sport went on repeating them. The evidence of continued doping was everywhere.

Sprinters flew up first category climbs, new young professionals adapted to the rigors of their first year in the peloton with absurd ease, and Frankie Andreu fell farther and farther behind. It wasn't so bad in one-day races -- he could get by in those -- but it was much tougher in stage races. Standing at the start line on the third morning, with two days' tiredness in his legs, he looked around and saw rivals still fresh and, he imagined, fueled by abundant red cells. This wasn't something he could prove but he just knew it. And in the spring of that year, 1999, it got to him.

"I was tired of having no chance, tired of getting dropped, tired of seeing others take advantage of me," he said. "I just wanted to feel normal again, to get back my place in the peloton. This was something I had worked hard to achieve and through no fault of mine, I had lost it. I was training as hard as ever, I was feeling as well as any other year, and I was racing great. The problem was I just couldn't keep up. I wanted to ride to my abilities, to be the team rider I had been throughout my career, but the difference was that I now needed r-EPO to accomplish that."

Andreu had heard enough of the stories to know Switzerland was the place to buy r-EPO, and as he lived in Nice, it wasn't that long a journey. He was told you didn't need a prescription, not even a doctor's note, and, probably most important of all, no one was going to ask to see identification. All you needed was money. But it took weeks for him to finally cross the line. Back and forth, he wrestled with the decision. "Should I, shouldn't I? One day it was 'yes,' the next day 'no.'" He told himself he was doing it to keep his job with the U.S. Postal Service team, to go on providing for his family, but he knew Betsy, his wife, wouldn't buy that. She would say it was cheating and therefore immoral. It wasn't something he could discuss with her before doing it.

In the end, the Tour de France made up his mind. Never before had he ridden in a team that had a potential winner. You might have made a case for Andy Hampsten in 1993, but he had been a long shot against the Spaniard Miguel Indurain. For this Tour, Armstrong was one of the favorites. But to win, he would need the support of a strong team and that meant every rider. The responsibility preyed on Andreu's mind. This was the race where he had to do his job, where he had to be strong. Once the decision was made, it seemed like a weight lifted from his mind and he could get on with preparing for the race.

While winning seven straight Tour de France events, Lance Armstrong has never been sanctioned for doping use.

He heard how simple it was to drive to Switzerland, walk into a pharmacy, and just ask for r-EPO. Little things revealed his reservations: he didn't ask the Swiss pharmacist for r-EPO but for one of the brand names under which the drug was sold. That felt easier. Immediately understanding what Andreu wanted, the pharmacist asked, "How many boxes?" "Just one," Andreu replied, noticing the pharmacist's look of exaggerated surprise. "You don't need more than one?" he asked. Andreu picked up on the inference and said firmly, "No, one is just fine." The journey back into France was one he would prefer not to repeat.

All the way to the Swiss-French border, his heart raced as he considered the consequences of being stopped and searched. Should he immediately admit to having the r-EPO, or could you try to act innocent and hope not to be searched? In the end, the border guards just waved him through and he was relieved to arrive back at the apartment in Nice. Though he had heard a lot of talk about r-EPO, he didn't actually know how the drug was used. How many injections each week? How much in each dose? How long would it last? At what temperature should it be stored? Eventually, he got some advice and began to take the drug leading up to the 1999 Tour de France. What intrigued him was that a tiny amount of a clear liquid, injected into the shoulder, increased his red blood cells. He used the drug at the apartment in Nice, refusing to take it to the preparatory races and the Tour. That would have been risky. He didn't tell people what he was doing and no one asked him. It was his secret.

At first there was no discernible effect on his performance, but once the Tour de France got going, he began to notice the change. Slowly, he felt stronger and better able to do the équipier's job that had once come easy to him. The drug returned him to his rightful position in the peloton, that of the respected team rider. There was no sense of guilt because most riders were using r-EPO, and he also knew there were plenty of guys doing far more. Many were using human growth hormone, corticoids, testosterone, and other products, but for him, that would have overstepped the mark. All he wanted was something to allow him to ride at his normal level.

He didn't suddenly start winning stages or leading the pack in long pursuits of breakaways. In fact, apart from himself, perhaps no one saw any difference in his performance. But there were differences. Instead of finishing each day in a state of total exhaustion, he was just ordinarily tired and he woke the next morning feeling his body had recovered a little. Andreu didn't imagine he would spend more than two weeks defending the race leader, but that's how it panned out in 1999 and he needed his strength. He still suffered in the mountains and there were times when he struggled on flat roads, but because his body was recovering, he was able to do his job. That pleased him. Pretty much from the moment he had turned professional 11 years before, he understood the level of his talent; it wasn't enough to make him a star or win more than a handful of races, but he was strong and got the credit due a loyal team rider.

When r-EPO came, it took that away. His weakness was to want that back, to be able to do his job and make sure no one could say he wasn't pulling his weight. Respect, he supposes, was what he was after.