"Trilifealete" (tri-life-alete) - "An age-group endurance athlete who is equally defined by familial and/or employment responsibilities."
It is 5:00 a.m., your alarm clock is blasting its annoying anthem as you cuss out loud trying to figure out the simple math puzzle you voluntarily asked for in order to turn it off, all so that it would really wake up this morning. The Spouse is snoring, The Kids are snoring (one of them in your bed with his damn toes in your nose all night), The Dog is snoring louder than anyone else in the house. The sun is not yet up. Hell, roosters are not even up yet but you my friend are awake (sort of) because this is the only time you will be able to get your workout in today.
You would love to workout after work when the sun is out and weather is nice, but alas, your after-work schedule includes - 5:30 p.m. baseball game for The Oldest; 6:30 p.m. soccer practice for The Youngest; dinner to cook; yard to mow; dog to walk; a few random work emails to reply to that can't wait until tomorrow; laundry to fold and put away; house to pick up (meh this can probably wait); days happenings to catch up on with The Spouse; Kids to herd into bed; and a 9:30 p.m. bedtime for you unless of course you have a second workout for the day that you have to squeeze in there somewhere.
You do some simple math, trying like hell to figure out a way to push snooze and sneak nine more precious minutes of fake sleep out of your night. Lets see, quick piece of toast and cup of coffee - 10 minutes safe bet; 13 minutes from my door to pool; workout says only 50 minutes which really means an 1:10:00 because it was written for some freak athlete that you are certainly not; 20-30 minutes to shower and get presentable for work; protein shake packed so no need to account for post-workout breakfast; 8:00 a.m. work meeting that you should probably prepare for since you didn't do it yesterday afternoon because you hustled out the door for the group workout instead; you could cut the workout short but that is not even a consideration because you only have 209 days left until your A Race. Conclusion - Damn it! No snooze for you! Go brush your damn teeth because you have stuff to do!
The workout, YOUR workout is not some 45 minute preppy-ass class at an overpriced gym surrounded by yuppies in matching outfits. Nope, its a do-it-by-your-damn-self workout that probably includes staring at a black line at the bottom of a cold pool assisted by more toys than a frustrated housewife; an hour-and-a-half in your basement on your pedal bike that you spent more than you did on your first car; or a lonely hour run with just you and a sidewalk, dodging ice booby traps and grumpy neighborhood dogs. You didn't download this workout for free from the internet either. You pay a coach twice what you pay in gym memberships a month to plan and track your progress and write up this sadistic crap just to make sure you are ready when the gun finally goes off. All of this you KNOW is money well spent.
Once your motor is going, you crank out the workout with images of greatness pulsing through your brain. Your efforts are rewarded with a rush of endorphin's comparable to what a drug addict experiences with each fix. Unlike drugs though, each post-workout high is actually better and more fulfilling than the one before it. This leads you to call what most people call insane, "fun." With images of your next inevitable personal record blurring your vision, you gulp down your organic, GMO free, gluten free, muscle rebuilding, turbo charging meal replacement and away you go on another day in the life of a Trilifealete.
That's right, you read that right, I didn't forget to spell check that - "Trilifealete" (tri-life-alete) - "An age group endurance athlete who is equally defined by familial and/or employment responsibilities." Parent, spouse, athlete - Trilifealete. Son/daughter, sibling, athlete - Trilifealete. Parent, entrepreneur, athlete - Trilifealete. Substitute in whatever describes you, but the term "Trilifealete" truly sums up the life of an age group endurance athlete. You don't get to ensure optimum hours of sleep every day. You don't get to sit around with your legs in some air compression contraption after each workout. Your "recovery" days could probably qualify as an actual workout for some people. You don't care though. You live for this stuff and thrive on the never-ending whirlwind of professional and personal life activity, all while training your body to swim, bike and run in a single day, distances that "ordinary folk" don't even do in a week.
Your passion and your lifestyle allows others to make a living feeding, catering to and capitalizing on your obsession. Equipment, more equipment, coaching, race entries, travel, lodging, specialized travel and lodging, nutrition, the list goes on and on. An entire thriving industry has been built on your efforts. Triathlon Business International estimates that the consumer triathlon market in the United States is a 2.8 BILLION dollar industry. The value of us Trilifealetes is best demonstrated by the recent purchase of World Triathlon Corporation by Dilian Wanda Group for $650 Million. That doesn't happen if you don't exist. They don't make money on professionals. Hell professionals aren't professionals without us. It's the hundreds of thousands of Trilifealetes that spend their hard earned money chasing their next endorphin high that makes this world go round. So, this holiday season while you are Googling the latest and greatest gear to add to your Christmas list, STOP. Stop. Take a moment. Step back, give yourself a pat on the ass and soak in the fact that you are a Trilifealete. You make this world go round. Everyone in it owes you a ginormous "thank you." Without you, they don't exist.
After you take that moment, buy the hell out of that new gear, renew your coaching program, get your Trilifealete spouse that new VO2 analysis, sign up for your next big race. Let's be honest, they are necessities and our sport depends upon us! When you are done with that, march your ass to the basement, mount your trusty stead and work off that Thanksgiving gravy. Here's to the Trilifealetes!
PS: I'm trademarking the hell out of "Trilifealete" - all rights reserved Mediocre Age Grouper, 11/28/15 :)
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Friday, May 15, 2015
Saturday, February 14, 2015
First Race - The Run - A Strange Thing Happened
"Where is he?" "67 seconds." "Right where I want him." Some old dude was chatting with his pal on the other side of the fence in transition about the guy he was apparently about to hunt down on the run. "Oh you go get him toughy" I thought to myself as I attempted to steady by wobbly legs long enough to get my tenny runners on for what I perceived the march of death. Yet another poor life choice for stoopid me.
Did you know you can't wear headphones during the run on a triathlon??? No seriously, not allowed, can't even try to pull that off. It is not like every road race out there where they say "no headphones," but everyone but the Kenyans wear them. In triathlon they actually mean it. They will pull you off the dang course! Know that that means? You have to listen to everything else going on around you the entire time you are running. Pure torture!
Dongalongalongalonga, random scream, music, loud speaker dude saying something about something; it all kind of blends together for a strange yet mysteriously energizing mash up. I couldn't feel my legs leaving transition. I'm pretty sure I floated and sure as shit had no idea how this run was going to go.
Running sockless for the first time ever was surprisingly liberating. "OK, shooting for 8ish minute miles here, we got this. Breath and settle." "Cadence, cadence, cadence, breath, breath breath." "Ah this aint so bad, might even think about picking up the pace here pretty soon." Passed a couple of nice people, got passed by a couple of devil worshiping commie terrorists, but hey yo, there's mile marker 1! Mile 1 check point: 7:25 ... WTF?! No stoopid, that is too fast, reign er in." (I know, sad right?) "I CAN'T be going that fast, I feel like a slug and can't even feel my legs."
So it turns out that there is a fascinating phenomenon that occurs after you have rode your legs numb at around 18-20 mph on the ole pedal bike. When you suddenly stop traveling at that speed and attempt to run, you feel like you are creeping but are going much faster than you anticipate. Nobody wrote about that in any of the magazine or online articles I studied in my free time! Now, I could have pulled in the reigns intentionally, which would have been the intelligent thing to do, but then again, this was probably my calling, and I had put the survival mode behind me and it was now time to yet again show the triathlon world what a "real athlete" could do. I glided on....
"I may just be Prefontaine reincarnated. I really don't see what the big fuss is all about. I mean after all I am freaking cruising here people, that's right, fasten your seat belts." .... "Hmm, its kind of hot." "What is that sharp pain suddenly shooting through my entire lower body?" "Who freaking shot me with bird shot?!" The, I totally could have been an Olympian had I started this sport in my prime, I must be Prefontaine reincarnated feeling apparently disappears at oh, we will be generous and say at about mile 2ish. AYEEEEEEEEE! My quads and calves suddenly woke up and let me know they are there and that they are not happy with the foolishness I was putting them through. "Holy crap, I have to pee too!" Do you stop and pee, keep going, what is a fellah supposed to do?
"Try to pee as you run" I thought. Read that somewhere .... Burning sensation ... Nothing! It's harder than one would think. In fact, to this day, impossible for me. I mean come on, a fellah spends his first 13 years of life (don't judge!) training himself not to pee his bed at night. The bladder muscles just don't turn around and untrain themselves! "Ah go ahead and stop by the port-a-potty or even one of these nice camper's spots." "Feel free to walk." "Be gone devil self-talk!" Walking is for ... well you can't walk! Thump, thump, thump, gasp, wheeze, snort, farmer blow, wheeze. "Ohhh, hey, what's that?" A little rubbing in my arch. Things just went from bad to worser in like a quarter of a mile. "Ok, how about whoever shot my legs with the birdshot put some buckshot in that same gun and just end this misery for me it right here and now. This was a turrible idea!"
Heading to the turn-around to start the 2nd and final lap - "Oooh look, the turn round." I catch a view of The Kid and The In-Laws. "Huh, they did make it, that's pretty cool!" High fives for everyone! At that point a strange thing happened. The muffled mash up of announcer, music, screaming, and wheezing, suddenly focused into spectators yelling positive words of encouragement to those of us dumb enough to participate in this sadomasochistic ritual that is triathlon. These people, including my family members, were taking time out of their days to line this damn park road and root on their friends and family members that were stoopid to pay money to participate in this lil event. It was a sudden but stark and undeniable realization, so much, it hit me with goose bumps and a wave of unexpected emotion. "Drop the hammer son!" A sudden burst of energy came out of the now clear blue sky. It was crazy how I had suffered through well over 2 hours of torture and seeing and hearing people cheering me on and everyone else on the road suddenly transferred into nitrous oxide in my "go tank."
Cadence picked up, a little more pep in my step. A big fellah was just entering the road ahead of me, on his first lap. SMACK! Yup, I smacked his ass! "You got this big fellah!" No idea what he said back, maybe a "thank you" for the ass grab, cuz I wasn't waiting around. I was on to the next group. Two older ladies, for sure into their 60's, shuffling side by side having themselves a good conversation and a different version of a Sunday drive. "Looking good ladies, looking good." A chuckled "thanks" was their reply, but with each bit of encouragement I gave out, I got a little extra boost of energy. It was weird, no doubt, but suddenly the death march had turned into something fanfreakingtastic. "Here we go SUJO!" The Wife was coming toward me with a look of "I freaking hate you for getting us into this crap" but she was flying. I'd like to think my holler got her moving a little more. Oh wait! "Ah crap, don't let her catch you man, you'll never hear the end of it!"
Remember ole Iowa State Tri Club dude that glided away from me in the last couple miles of the bike, after looking for his computer?" I finally caught up with that bastard on the run, mile 4ish. "Feeling good, feeling fine" ... ahhhh still have to pee! That little rubbing, yup that turned into a nice big ole blister, I could feel it growing with every stomp of my feet. "That's OK, good thing I'm tough." "Don't do anything new on race day." I swear I read that somewhere ... probably should have listened. "Good run man" the kid said. Was I supposed to say something back? How can he even talk? I'm about to die of running induced asphyxia (pretty sure that is a real thing). "Thanks" I gasped. I tried to pick up the pace just a little bit to go past him but the little bastard stayed with me. "Come on man!" I thought. "I have to pee, I have a blister, I just want to finish!" "You are making me kind of race here."
The Cyclone pulled away from me a bit right around mile 5ish or so. Right hand turn, entering the dirt path and field before the finish. I could hear names being called of those that finished. Arooooo, Aroooo, Barwooooo! Oh snap, the Father in Law has the Fat Beagle on the home stretch. Mustering what I thought to be every extra bit of remaining energy I gave them the thumbs up and a smile as I rolled by. The Kid and Mother in Law were there too. More high fives. The Cyclone was in sight. Satisfied with just knowing I was going to finish, I smiled to myself until .... "You aren't going to let a Cyclone beat you are yah?" I hear a stern male voice ask. Sonofa.... The Father In Law was calling me out! Oh now it is a pride thing.
We were on a dirt trail now in the trees, finish was in sight. So was The Cyclone! He was just right there. But the pain, holy crap, the pain. Did you know your lungs can actually catch on fire? Oh they can, I know this to be a medical fact because mine were a roaring bonfire of flames. Get out the fire extinguisher cuz the nitrous oxide is about to get lit on fire! I'm pretty sure I hammered out a 4.8 (I know, I know, there is nothing impressive about that) 40 yard dash to finish that damn race. Barely able to breath, heart rate of I'm positive 200+, I nicked The Cyclone at the end by probably a Chinaman's ... well it was close, but I got him!
Shaking, gasping, and wanting to die, an overwhelming wave of emotion hit me. "Holy crap, I did it!" I finished my first triathlon. Seriously, it is impossible to describe in words. Although this conversation gets kind of close to summing it up. "So how was it?" Smiling coach asked (It was that evil smile like the athletic trainers had when they were putting you through rehabilitation conditioning). "That sucked!" I took a bite of the worlds most delicious doughnut and sip of Coke, took it all in and then, "when is the next one?!" It is truly a strange draw this triathlon thing.
Did you know you can't wear headphones during the run on a triathlon??? No seriously, not allowed, can't even try to pull that off. It is not like every road race out there where they say "no headphones," but everyone but the Kenyans wear them. In triathlon they actually mean it. They will pull you off the dang course! Know that that means? You have to listen to everything else going on around you the entire time you are running. Pure torture!
Dongalongalongalonga, random scream, music, loud speaker dude saying something about something; it all kind of blends together for a strange yet mysteriously energizing mash up. I couldn't feel my legs leaving transition. I'm pretty sure I floated and sure as shit had no idea how this run was going to go.
Running sockless for the first time ever was surprisingly liberating. "OK, shooting for 8ish minute miles here, we got this. Breath and settle." "Cadence, cadence, cadence, breath, breath breath." "Ah this aint so bad, might even think about picking up the pace here pretty soon." Passed a couple of nice people, got passed by a couple of devil worshiping commie terrorists, but hey yo, there's mile marker 1! Mile 1 check point: 7:25 ... WTF?! No stoopid, that is too fast, reign er in." (I know, sad right?) "I CAN'T be going that fast, I feel like a slug and can't even feel my legs."
So it turns out that there is a fascinating phenomenon that occurs after you have rode your legs numb at around 18-20 mph on the ole pedal bike. When you suddenly stop traveling at that speed and attempt to run, you feel like you are creeping but are going much faster than you anticipate. Nobody wrote about that in any of the magazine or online articles I studied in my free time! Now, I could have pulled in the reigns intentionally, which would have been the intelligent thing to do, but then again, this was probably my calling, and I had put the survival mode behind me and it was now time to yet again show the triathlon world what a "real athlete" could do. I glided on....
"I may just be Prefontaine reincarnated. I really don't see what the big fuss is all about. I mean after all I am freaking cruising here people, that's right, fasten your seat belts." .... "Hmm, its kind of hot." "What is that sharp pain suddenly shooting through my entire lower body?" "Who freaking shot me with bird shot?!" The, I totally could have been an Olympian had I started this sport in my prime, I must be Prefontaine reincarnated feeling apparently disappears at oh, we will be generous and say at about mile 2ish. AYEEEEEEEEE! My quads and calves suddenly woke up and let me know they are there and that they are not happy with the foolishness I was putting them through. "Holy crap, I have to pee too!" Do you stop and pee, keep going, what is a fellah supposed to do?
"Try to pee as you run" I thought. Read that somewhere .... Burning sensation ... Nothing! It's harder than one would think. In fact, to this day, impossible for me. I mean come on, a fellah spends his first 13 years of life (don't judge!) training himself not to pee his bed at night. The bladder muscles just don't turn around and untrain themselves! "Ah go ahead and stop by the port-a-potty or even one of these nice camper's spots." "Feel free to walk." "Be gone devil self-talk!" Walking is for ... well you can't walk! Thump, thump, thump, gasp, wheeze, snort, farmer blow, wheeze. "Ohhh, hey, what's that?" A little rubbing in my arch. Things just went from bad to worser in like a quarter of a mile. "Ok, how about whoever shot my legs with the birdshot put some buckshot in that same gun and just end this misery for me it right here and now. This was a turrible idea!"
Heading to the turn-around to start the 2nd and final lap - "Oooh look, the turn round." I catch a view of The Kid and The In-Laws. "Huh, they did make it, that's pretty cool!" High fives for everyone! At that point a strange thing happened. The muffled mash up of announcer, music, screaming, and wheezing, suddenly focused into spectators yelling positive words of encouragement to those of us dumb enough to participate in this sadomasochistic ritual that is triathlon. These people, including my family members, were taking time out of their days to line this damn park road and root on their friends and family members that were stoopid to pay money to participate in this lil event. It was a sudden but stark and undeniable realization, so much, it hit me with goose bumps and a wave of unexpected emotion. "Drop the hammer son!" A sudden burst of energy came out of the now clear blue sky. It was crazy how I had suffered through well over 2 hours of torture and seeing and hearing people cheering me on and everyone else on the road suddenly transferred into nitrous oxide in my "go tank."
Cadence picked up, a little more pep in my step. A big fellah was just entering the road ahead of me, on his first lap. SMACK! Yup, I smacked his ass! "You got this big fellah!" No idea what he said back, maybe a "thank you" for the ass grab, cuz I wasn't waiting around. I was on to the next group. Two older ladies, for sure into their 60's, shuffling side by side having themselves a good conversation and a different version of a Sunday drive. "Looking good ladies, looking good." A chuckled "thanks" was their reply, but with each bit of encouragement I gave out, I got a little extra boost of energy. It was weird, no doubt, but suddenly the death march had turned into something fanfreakingtastic. "Here we go SUJO!" The Wife was coming toward me with a look of "I freaking hate you for getting us into this crap" but she was flying. I'd like to think my holler got her moving a little more. Oh wait! "Ah crap, don't let her catch you man, you'll never hear the end of it!"
Remember ole Iowa State Tri Club dude that glided away from me in the last couple miles of the bike, after looking for his computer?" I finally caught up with that bastard on the run, mile 4ish. "Feeling good, feeling fine" ... ahhhh still have to pee! That little rubbing, yup that turned into a nice big ole blister, I could feel it growing with every stomp of my feet. "That's OK, good thing I'm tough." "Don't do anything new on race day." I swear I read that somewhere ... probably should have listened. "Good run man" the kid said. Was I supposed to say something back? How can he even talk? I'm about to die of running induced asphyxia (pretty sure that is a real thing). "Thanks" I gasped. I tried to pick up the pace just a little bit to go past him but the little bastard stayed with me. "Come on man!" I thought. "I have to pee, I have a blister, I just want to finish!" "You are making me kind of race here."
The Cyclone pulled away from me a bit right around mile 5ish or so. Right hand turn, entering the dirt path and field before the finish. I could hear names being called of those that finished. Arooooo, Aroooo, Barwooooo! Oh snap, the Father in Law has the Fat Beagle on the home stretch. Mustering what I thought to be every extra bit of remaining energy I gave them the thumbs up and a smile as I rolled by. The Kid and Mother in Law were there too. More high fives. The Cyclone was in sight. Satisfied with just knowing I was going to finish, I smiled to myself until .... "You aren't going to let a Cyclone beat you are yah?" I hear a stern male voice ask. Sonofa.... The Father In Law was calling me out! Oh now it is a pride thing.
We were on a dirt trail now in the trees, finish was in sight. So was The Cyclone! He was just right there. But the pain, holy crap, the pain. Did you know your lungs can actually catch on fire? Oh they can, I know this to be a medical fact because mine were a roaring bonfire of flames. Get out the fire extinguisher cuz the nitrous oxide is about to get lit on fire! I'm pretty sure I hammered out a 4.8 (I know, I know, there is nothing impressive about that) 40 yard dash to finish that damn race. Barely able to breath, heart rate of I'm positive 200+, I nicked The Cyclone at the end by probably a Chinaman's ... well it was close, but I got him!
Shaking, gasping, and wanting to die, an overwhelming wave of emotion hit me. "Holy crap, I did it!" I finished my first triathlon. Seriously, it is impossible to describe in words. Although this conversation gets kind of close to summing it up. "So how was it?" Smiling coach asked (It was that evil smile like the athletic trainers had when they were putting you through rehabilitation conditioning). "That sucked!" I took a bite of the worlds most delicious doughnut and sip of Coke, took it all in and then, "when is the next one?!" It is truly a strange draw this triathlon thing.
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