Nutrition and Hydration at Ironman Texas

I've been working specifically on nutrition for 18 months now.  After a nutrition disaster at Ironman Austin in October of 2011, where I had to abandon my plan and rely on flat coke and water to finish the race, I needed a change.

So, I turned to Infinit.  I'd heard about them, and at this point, was up for anything.  Eighteen months later, it's been successful.  But it did take some work.

At Ironman Galveston in April of 2012, I nearly bonked on the bike.  We discovered that my heart rate runs too high for me to make use of the protein that was in my bike mix.  We switched the mix to higher carbs/lower protein, and raised the calories a bit.

When Ironman Texas came in May of 2012, it went like a dream.  After that, I kept the calories the same, and made tweaks to my hydration system.

At first, I was using multiple water bottles, which I really didn't like.  Some time last summer, however, I found FlexrSports, and their remote water bottle kit.  Basically?  A water bottle with a really long straw.  I went through several variations of the remote kit setup on my bike.  Finally this year, I settled on this:

There are two 28 oz bottles behind the seat, and one long flexible straw that connects the two then comes up along the top tube to the aero bars.  I recently overhauled my bike, and when I put it back together, I wasn't really happy with the way the bottle cages sit - so I changed that too and wound up with this:

You'll notice the bottle cages sit upright, and there's a water bottle on the aerobars.  Right now I use a bungee cord to hold that bottle on, because that bungee is pretty damn useful for lots of things - including keeping the straw in place.

So, my nutrition plan (trained, tested and proved) goes something like this:

Breakfast is coffee and oatmeal about two hours before the race starts

About an 30-60 minutes before both half iron and iron distance races I start sipping 12 ounces of water mixed with a 1 hour serving of my bike mix - I finish this about ten minutes before race start.

I start drinking my Infinit bike mix right out of T1.  For half iron distance races I mix an hour and a half in each bottle, and for iron distance races, I mix three hours in each bottle.  I know exactly how much to sip every 15 minutes to get exactly the right amount of calories for however long I'm on the bike course.  I take water bottles from the aid stations and rest them on the aerobars with the help of that bungee cord.  Depending on how hot the day is, I'll drink a minimum of 20 oz per hour.  Ironman Texas 2013 was a whopping 40 oz per hour!

Once I get back to T2, I have a flask set up with Infinit's Napalm.  I drink one ounce every 20 minutes.  This year at Ironman Texas, I had an empty plastic water bottle that I reused for my special needs bag.  I put six extra ounces of Napalm in that bottle. I take water and ice from all the aid stations if it's pretty hot, otherwise, I drink to thirst.

One other thing that I do - I carry an extra hour of my bike mix on me in a plastic baggie, and I pick up a bag of gu chomps from an aid station and put them in my pocket - just in case.

As far as nutrition goes - after breakfast - I don't have anything solid until after the race is over.   And I don't notice getting hungry at all.

Ironman Texas 2013

Wow, what a difference.

Another year of experience behind me. Another year of training. What to expect no longer a mystery.

A few last minute fixes

A week or two out I had that feeling. It happens less and less now.  The "what did I get myself into?" feeling.  Where I'm not sure that I really want to do the race I've signed up for.  The feeling didn't last very long, but race nerves started a few days early.  By the time I left town on Thursday, my race nerves had peaked.

Thursday evening after athlete check in I put in a short swim - after that, the race nerves were gone.  I'd put in the training, logged the hours, the miles and the meters.  There didn't seem much of a reason to worry.

The race comes without permission, and happens - with or without me.  The weather would be what it would.  We were expecting high eighties, high humidity and about half cloud cover.

Bike check in.  Hot.  Few clouds.

Race day came.

I was more forgetful this race than for any of my others.  I had the essentials, but also had to arrange things differently than planned. Everything set up, then off to the swim start.

Age groupers piled into the water - where the pros were getting ready to start.  The pros started, then time for age groupers to line up.  We tread water for about ten minutes, and it got crowded.  Very crowded.  We were bumping into each other, getting kicked, elbowed, grabbed.  Finally, it was time to go, and.....
 HAND TO FOOT COMBAT!!!

The washing machine

The swim felt like it went on forever.  And I felt like I wasn't going anywhere.  At first, everyone was packed tightly in and it was hard to get in a groove.  But in comparison to last year, I had a stronger pull with a slower cadence, and better endurance.  The overall swim was faster for me.

Into transition - that went better too.  Better planning and more experience lent itself to getting out faster.

Onto the bike.  I remember last year, it felt like I was flying and I had to hold myself back.  This year, no such feeling.  My body felt worn out going into the bike.  But still, I had a good pace, and consistent power.  In reviewing the files later, I can see that the power and cadence remained consistent throughout the ride.  But that's where the good news stopped.

The aerobar slipped

As soon as I got on the bike, my aerobar started slipping.  By the time I reached the first aid station, I had slipped enough that it would no longer support a water bottle.  I tried anyway, but dropped it.  So I couldn't start hydrating until I reached the second aid station, when I started putting the bottles in my kit pocket.  Long before then, my stomach started cramping.  But I did the best I could to get nutrition and water in. Fortunately, I'm completely liquid with my nutrition, so there isn't anything solid in my GI system to draw fluids away from the rest of my body.  The cramps got progressively worse, and by the time I got to 70-80 miles, they were so excruciating that I could not remain aero for more than a few minutes at a time.  AND, starting as soon as I could, I was drinking about 40 ounces of water an hour, keeping my kit wet, and dumping water through the vents in my helmet.  As with last year, around 80 miles is where it just got purely miserable.  And it was hot.

I was so glad to see the chute leading to transition.

This transition is where is started to become clear just how hot race day was.  I remember sitting in the tent and thinking "Where is everyone?"   I stayed in the tent long enough to get more water on and in, cool off and make a bathroom trip.  But it still took a while.

Then onto the run.  Once on the run, the stomach cramps eased up, and in reviewing the run file, cadence and pace stayed about the same for the entire run.   On the flip side...

It.  Was.  So.  Hot.


I'm really not sure how I kept going.  By the time I was nearly done with the bike, I was dizzy.  Later, I found out I hadn't had enough calories before I got to the run.  I hit the run dizzy, cramping, hot, and much more miserable than I expected.  My calves started hurting at some point, and I got to the point where I was afraid to eat or drink anything that I didn't have to.  I didn't want a spectator to catch a picture of me urping up my toenails.

 But I focused on what training had taught me: cadence - keep it mid to high eighties, pace - keep it steady, get the nutrition in, drink water, get ice in my kit, and try to figure out how to cool off.  Focus on one foot in front of the other.  One at a time. And again.  I knew sometime during the second lap that I was likely to need more after the race than several bottles of water.

I remember thinking "It must have been this hard last year."  I remember wanting to quit.

But I didn't.  Something in my nutrition plan helped me stay functional until the race was over, and some part of me - one of my defining characteristics - kept me going.  I don't quit - that's just who I am.

Just before my hugs

Race day turned out to be 95 degrees according to several, and mostly sunny.  It takes it's place as the hardest race I've ever done - mentally and physically.  I wound up in the medical tent becaust I was dizzy and nauseated. They gave me a bunch of fluids, massaged my lower legs so that I could walk, and let me go.

But I will be signing up next year.

The best part of my race was seeing my kids.  It always is.  My family is my best support crew and my motivation.  They braved the heat to come see me and to cheer me on.  And six miles into the marathon when I was miserable, I came around a corner and got the best hugs in the world from the two best kids in the world.

And finally, the finish

Harassment at a Half Marathon?

I recently read this post after being asked my opinion of it.

I'm appalled.

Not at the signs, or at the fact that random men were paid by a corporation to hold them out there.  To me, that seems like it's actually a pretty brilliant marketing scheme by a makeup company.

I'm shocked by the fact that a spectator (also someone that a quick search on athlinks reveals has not ever run a race) would believe that they have the perspective to complain about such a thing.  The author of that post called it "sugarcoated and corporate sponsored street harassment."

She complains about the signs and states that they objectify women, and asks if we we see these signs at a men's marathon.  Her answer is no.  (I giggled about that one.)

Now I've been at countless mixed gender races, and I can tell you that a sign saying "Hello Gorgeous" would be pretty damn cool at mile 24 of a marathon when I'm digging deep for every last bit of what I've got.  I can also tell you that the signs get better. They are one of the best parts of racing.  Years down the road, we laugh about what some of the signs say.  My favorite (I forget the race now, but it was during the run of a mixed gender half iron distance triathlon) said "You have stamina, Call me."  At whatever point of the race I was at, I laughed.  And at that point, I needed it.

The author of the linked post has no perspective on what those signs out there mean to endurance athletes - and yes, you would find something VERY similar at a men's half marathon.  You'd probably find signs that you'd consider worse.

If you continue this rabbit trail, you might endanger one of the best parts of our races.  The signs from our kids, our husbands, our wives, our parents.  The ones that say "Hello Gorgeous,"  "You're beautiful when you sweat," or "Cute Running Shoes."  The ones that keep us motivated because someone is watching.  It gives us the strength to dig deeper in ourselves.  To find strength when we thought we had none.  Guess what? Our families that are out there to cheer us on are all random people to all but one person.

And you, you may think you've done something wonderful.  Stood up for women that you think are being harassed.  But thousands of racers will resent that their families can't put signs up for them because one spectator once, with no perspective on what a 24 inch by 36 inch piece of cardboard meant, took offense to something that is part of a culture they couldn't possibly understand.

And don't even try to school me on feminism, sister.  I've been entrenched in a patriarchal career for almost as long as you've been alive.   This is one female keeping your assumptions in check.

Those signs?  They were brilliant.  Women are gorgeous at every point in their athletic path.  They are beautiful when they sweat.  And running shoes - well - the good ones are getting cuter.  So dig your panties out of their twist and lighten up.  Go for a run.  And at 13 miles - see if you wouldn't like some random stranger encouraging you.  Because that is what that sign is.

If anything got objectified out there that day, it was the guys holding those signs.  Thanks, Bare Escentuals - and also thank you to the guys that held those signs for all those beautiful women.  A half marathon is hard.  You probably made it just a bit easier for them.

Boston and Texas

The events of the last week are heartbreaking - first Boston, then West - both equally terrifying and personal.  Personal because after the titles of mother and wife, I also carry the label of firefighter... athlete... paramedic... 

At first I had something to do: make sure my entire team and their loved ones were all right.  In the chaos that ensued after the explosions in Boston, it took some time. So we waited...  And we talked...  And we started the healing process.

Then, before we could begin to really understand what had happened in Boston, another tragedy, this one much closer to home for me.

When I first read that email "explosion,  firefighters were onscene when it happened" my heart went cold. Over the next several hours, we began to find out the staggering enormity of the event, and how hard the first responder community had been hit.

Texas is a big state,  but as a firefighter, it's a very small world.  Everyone knows everyone or one of their friends in the fire service. We feel each loss personally.

I spent the next day getting involved in small ways from a distance.

It wasn't until Saturday that I found out that the Westboro Baptist Church had announced on twitter that they were planning on being at the funerals here in Texas.  All I could think was " Oh no you don't.  Not my family!"

That's probably when all the emotions, all the stress, all the activity, and the grief of the past week overflowed.

Now, if you'll excuse me for a moment, to wax spiritual... 
I firmly believe that when I stand before my maker, I will be left with two things: the intent of my actions while during my life, and the results of my actions. Not results as in I did well in a race.  Results as in how I affected people, how I made them feel.
I pray that on the day the people who picket funerals meet their maker, they feel the anguish - the horror, hurt and helplessness -that they have caused in other. That is Hell.  An eternity of perfect knowledge of the pain caused to others.

Today I saw a picture of Bostonians blocking the roads to anyone that would cause more pain to those who have lost, and I applaud you, Boston.

Texas - we just finished one awful, traumatic week. But I think we will find strength in our brotherhood to shelter those who have lost from even more pain.

A few observations from this week...
The bombings in Boston were aimed at spectators and runners.  But runners and their families, especially marathoners, and most especially those at Boston  know how to rise from the dark places.

We saw some absolutely amazing people rise above the call of being human: several people leapt into action to save a another's life, a police officer brought a family in Boston milk when the city was on lockdown, a city banded together to protect their own. 

And while there were still people making dumb statements on social media, or insulting police or first responders, many people got a glimpse via social media into a world that isn't all glory.

But there will always be a need for fire and police, just as there will always be a need for communities to come together in times of tragedy.

And there's one more label I should add to the ones I listed at the beginning of this post- American. This week has brought out the best in Americans in reacting to immeasurable challenges.

Meanest Mommy EVAR 2013

I'm proud to announce that I've been nominated for the Meanest Mommy *sniffle* EVAR Award for 2013.

The whole family is suffering the effects of a cold and the preceding grocery store trip did little to improve our moods.

I'd seen the pictures on the internet of the kids in their "We Will Get Along" Shirts.  Unfortunately my kids are pretty different in height, so even my husband's biggest shirt didn't work out safely.

So...  I improvised.  I let them know that they had to get along for five minutes before I'd set them free, and if they argued or if I heard anyone crying, I'd restart the clock.

See the belt around them?

I'm honored to be nominated by BOTH my children.  I believe it means that I'm getting this parenting thing right.  I mean, without the parenting manual and all.  I'll make sure and remember to mention my mother when I write my acceptance speech - she did wish that I would have one just like me someday.  Maybe I'll pass that along to my kids too.

That woman at the gym...

With the weather getting colder, I tend to do more of my workouts in the gym, or at the house on my trainer.  I'm not a fan of being cold.

But I'm also a parent AND an athlete.  Which means that some of my workouts happen on a treadmill or a trainer out of necessity.  But if you're a parent, you know that bathroom time is more valuable than all water in Texas right now.

So, basically, I'm that woman at the gym that takes twenty or thirty minutes in the shower because I can.  Because I know that the daycare people (who are a gift from god in her infinite wisdom) can't find me won't look for me there, and there's no fighting outside the door, no coloring books and crayons being handed to you under the door, no kids raiding the pantry for snacks while you pee, and nothing getting broken the second you turn that lock.

You could call it hiding from the destroyer of worlds who is walking this earth as the damn cutest little boy I've ever seen.  And you could call it avoiding the independent little girl that is going to ignore what I tell her and do it her own way (which, I imagine is a product of my own "There isn't anything you can't do if you set your mind to it).  You could.

I call it maintaining my sanity.  It's the only way I get to wash my hair and my armpits without slipping on the floor out of the shower to breakup the "MOMMY (S)HE STOLE MY TOY/SNACK/UNDERWEAR!" that comes about 3.2 nanoseconds after I step into that glorious hot water.

I honestly can't figure out how a 45 minute run on a treadmill turns into a two hour visit to the gym, but I come out of there with a good workout and my ability to smile while the three year old throws a tantrum because the six year old has her fingers in her ears and isn't listening to him but is yelling because he is crying.  Seriously, I laugh at that crap because it's damn funny even if it frustrates the living hell out of me when it happens.  There isn't a whole lot you can do in public nowadays to discipline them except lean over and whisper in their ears about what's going to happen to them when they get home. 

But going to the gym and taking my time gives me that ability to maintain my calm.

I've just signed my youngest up for preschool, so in the fall, I'll have a half dozen hours a couple times a week without the hellspawn.  I'm not entirely sure what I'll do with myself, but I imagine I'll be able to get outside more to workout, and use my own shower more, rather than take all my nice shower products to the gym.  I imagine I'll get to shave my legs more than once a week.  I imagine that I'll get to see some of my friends again, go running or riding with my friends again, and I won't have to figure out what to do with the kids so I can do it.  And then, I'll be able to shower or pee without world war three starting outside the bathroom door.

Hmmm...

Ya know?  The three year old is almost always doing something that has me laughing, and the six year old is so curious about everything in the world that it's fun to learn with her.

I sure will miss them.

2012 in review...

2012.  Where do I begin?  This is likely to be a long post, so grab some popcorn and a comfy seat. 

This is part 2 of the last post.

I knew going into 2012 that I had something totally crazy that I was planning to do.  THE marathon.  I knew that it was likely to be one of the hardest things I've ever done, and I remembered from running my first marathon that everything was about perspective. 

So on a slight whim, I signed up for Bandera (50k).  I'd heard good things about this race.

Yeah.  About that.

Bandera stands as the most painful race I've ever done (for me).  Hills, cactus that I was holding my hands over my head to keep from getting stuck (because it was as tall as me), rocks, steep slopes, and trail running.  *Shudder* 

I know someday I'll do longer running races, but I'm not sure if I'm prepared for Bandera again.  But I accomplished what I set out to do.  I set out to learn to hurt.  I set out to find out how bad it could get, so come February and a marathon, I could put that hurt in perspective and keep going.

February rolled around, and I thought I was ready. Ten days before the marathon, I rolled my ankle and wound up with a sprain. But I wasn't going to be "the woman who WAS going to run a marathon in firefighting gear." So I sucked it up, buttercup, and did it.  I'd been watching the weather for weeks, and it promised to be a beautiful warm day.  Not a great day to be running in firefighting gear.  But, with the help of a random stranger from the internet (who is now a great friend, with a super awesome wife that puts pavement runners like me to shame on the trails), I finished.

I met some great people through that process.  A fellow blogger, and initially a member of the media (whom firefighters trust about as far as they can throw them) has become a good friend.  I definitely don't get out to ride with her as much as I should.

In March I was invited to join Team Firefighter, a non-profit group of firefighters, nationally based, that race and train for a cause.  These guys are all in different places in their athletic careers but they are all great guys that work hard, train hard, and help each other out.  I've found my place with them and look forward to seeing where the team goes from here.  There are some really amazing people on the team, experience in all levels, and passion for firefighting and racing.

I'd have to call January and February "perspective setting" months.  What followed was a whirlwind of "oh crap" moments and "I can't believe it."

March 17, I drove down to ride the Ironman Texas course to be familiar with it ahead of time.  I officially had my first "I-didn't-just-fall-over-because-I-didn't-unclip-fast-enough" wreck.  I took a concrete ledge wrong and got a pavement sandwich as a result.  At mile 3.  Of 100.  The next 97 miles were miserable, but I wasn't going to make the friend that I had driven three hours down with waste his day and the trip.  Keeping up was another story though, and it hurt my confidence.  Two days later I found myself getting my right side x-rayed to rule out any breaks.  I sprained my right shoulder, and bruised my right femur.  And left a small amount of skin on the pavement.

Two weeks later, I was racing Ironman Texas 70.3 in Galveston.  I almost bonked during the ride because I hadn't prepared appropriately and wasn't as familiar with my nutrition as I should be.  But the worst was that my hip started hurting during the ride, and every step on the run was painful.  I came away not having realized the effect that my wreck had on that race, and was pretty frustrated with the result, even though I did get a slightly better time for the distance.

I met someone at Galveston that has become a really great friend and mentor.  She's about a year or two ahead of me in racing, and in the same age group.   She's given me some really great advice, and been there when I've been clueless.

Finally, the injuries healed, just in time for Ironman Texas in the middle of May.  After everything that had happened during the Spring, it really did seem like a really long training day. A long training day that may have been mentally hard, but wasn't nearly as painful as some of what I'd done previously.

But I did run into Michelle again, and she put me in touch with her coach, Jeff, at Apex Endurance.

This is when the magic started happening.  Jeff agreed to coach me, and he started teaching me all the things that I'd been guessing at when I was coaching myself.  All of a sudden, I started learning the things I was capable of doing, rather than guess at what I might do, and I started to have confidence in myself.  I was learning how to pace better, what pace to run specific distances at where I could hold it for the entire distance, and most importantly, to trust myself.

Under his guidance, I started to see some big changes where I'd been nearly stagnant before.

Race after race I started to see major PR's.  Tri season culminated with a 3rd place AG win at a half iron distance race, and the last running race of 2012 was a half marathon with a 3rd place AG finish.   The last race is a well known race on the Austin circuit.

I've also completed my first stand alone bike race and swim race.

To really think about it, I'd have to break 2012 up into two parts.  The first, leading up to, and including Ironman Texas, and the second, beginning about a month after.

The time leading up to and including the Ironman taught me a lot about myself, about others, and about relationships.  I've met some really great people, online and in person.  People talk about the Ironman - and in training it's about the race, the race, the race.  But after the race, at some point, you realize it was the journey.  For me, the journey brought a group of kindred souls into my life.

After the Ironman...  I would say I've started to push my limits, but I haven't found those yet.  So instead, I'll say I'm pushing ME. 

I do have my husband and kids to thank for such a great year.  They've been patient with me and my crazy racing/training schedule, listened to me when I was trying to figure things out and needed to bounce things off of someone, and been my cheering section the whole time.  I can't imagine a cuter cheering section than my beautiful kids.

Best moment of the entire Ironman

2013 is a mystery. But I look forward to what this year will bring.

I remember when...

I've been thinking about this post for a while. It's the first part of a two post reflection on the last year.  2012 was a wild year for me, but success isn't anything more than just a finish line if you don't remember where you started.

So... In no particular order:

I remember seeing the picture of my fire chief on his desk from when he crossed an Ironman finish line.

I remember thinking, "Maybe I could do that."

I remember thinking, "I never want to do this again!"

I remember when three miles was a daunting task.  Texas heat and humidity were excuses.  Rain, cold weather, and darkness were good reasons not to go.

I remember when I went and just ran.  I didn't have any idea how to train, and I couldn't understand the notes on many of the training plans that I tried to use.  I just ran.

I remember when getting faster seemed impossible.

I remember when I didn't know how to carry water, didn't know anything about nutrition and finished so many of my runs weak, sick, and swearing I would never run again.

I remember running again.

I remember signing up for races and looking at the previous year's times to make sure I wouldn't be the last person across the line.

I remember hurting during my runs and afterward because I was wearing the shoes that I thought were pretty, rather than the ones that were right for me.

I remember when an hour run was my long run, not my usual training runs during the week.

I remember my very first race.

I remember running for health (well, 'cause I figured out that running meant I could eat more), running for stress relief, and running because I finally saw improvement.

I remember wanting so badly to win.

I remember finally placing for the first time in a small local race.

I remember realizing that it wasn't about winning.

I remember when my priorities changed.

I remember being so overcome with emotion that I might actually finish my first marathon.  And somewhere in that 26.2 miles I realized how great of analogy the marathon is for life. I also realized in that 26.2 miles that I was just beginning to learn who I might be and what I was capable of.

I remember telling my husband that I was never running a marathon again.

I remember letting go of expectations. And finding out that I was better that I'd been letting myself be. 

I remember finding myself out there.

I remember finding some great friends that teach me so much about life, the universe and everything. (42)

I remember being in dark places. During races, during training runs, during life. But I remember there isn't a dark place that a pair of sneakers can't help me get out of. 

I'm sure there's more.  I've finally gotten the kids (including the big one) to bed, and I'm typing this out on my phone.

But I look in the mirror sometimes and wonder who the athlete is that's standing in front of me.  Because I remember.

Thoughts on recent tragedy

I, along with millions of others, have struggled to understand something that doesn't make any sense after the shootings in Connecticut.  So many things don't make sense on this earth.

We heard about it in our cars and pulled over and cried or said prayers for the families involved.  We saw it on facebook or the news and desperately wanted to reach out and hold those people who had the best parts of their life ripped away from them.  Those of us who are parents of young children couldn't wait until we saw them again and hugged them tightly and for a long time, kids giggling and squirming, but not understanding the emotion.

Many have used this as a political platform to push agendas that don't have anything to do with what really happened, and to me that's sickening.  Who really wants to hear something akin to "I told you so!" when their hearts are hurting and their arms are empty.  My only political statement on the matter is this: 

Gun control is like birth control. It only works if you believe in it and practice it. And even then, sometimes things still slip through.
But no matter what you do, others around you will still be having babies.

Twenty tiny coffins will have to be buried.  Twenty.  That's so much bigger than many of us can imagine.  It makes your mind melt with the evil that something like that took.  My heart goes to the families involved, and the emergency responders that put the needs of a community first, at the same time wondering if their own children were going to walk out of that school.  It's hard to do your job while in tears, but they still did it.

I have hope for the world that my children will inherit when I look at the social media and see more stories about the people involved than the person that did this.  The stories of heroism and bravery outnumber everything else. I've avoided the news because the same isn't true for it.

In honor of the all the bright stars that will be shining in heaven rather than on earth, waiting for their family and friends when they cross that final finish line:

Charlotte Bacon, age 6
Daniel Barden, age 7
Olivia Engel, age 6
Josephine Gay, age 7
Ana M Marquez-Greene, age 6
Dylan Hockley, age 6
Madeleine F Hsu, age 6
Catherine V Hubbard, age 6
Chase Kowalski , age 7
Jesse Lewis, age 6
James Mattioli, age 6
Grace McDonnell, age 7
Emilie Parker, age 6
Jack Pinto, age 6
Noah Pozner, age 6
Caroline Previdi, age 6
Jessica Rekos, age 6
Avielle Richman, age 6
Benjamin Wheeler, age 6
Allison N Wyatt, age 6
Rachel Davino, age 29
Dawn Hochsprung, age 47
Anne Marie Murphy, age 52
Lauren Rousseau, age 30
Mary Sherlach, age 56
Victoria Soto, age 27

The Rules

I swiped this from Karbon Speed's Facebook page. This is meant as tongue in cheek humor. If you are offended by this, then you are definitely "that guy."

Enjoy!

#1. Not everyone thinks what you do is awesome. Most think you’re a bit nuts, and they’re right. Remember that at your next cocktail party.

#2. No race jerseys of races you haven’t raced in, especially if the distance is longer than you’ve been. T-shirts are exempt. If you roll up in an Ironman France jersey, be prepared to explain how you handled the Cole de I’Ecre.

#3. Only refer to courses/segments/people by their nicknames. Highway 19 is unacceptable. It’s called the Queen K, and Crowie owned it. And Macca before him. Don’t let this happen again. Pay ‘N Save Hill. Look it up.

#4. Training in rough conditions makes you tough. A little rain or heat won’t make you melt, buttercup.

#5. A reality check should be performed once per year. MIT is not going to test the effectiveness of brick workouts. The rolling resistance “expert” uses a 100 pound sac in his garage for testing. Not all wind tunnels can even record data at the slow speeds we ride. Not everything that glitters is gold.

#6. Gadgets are strongly encouraged. An old pair of shorts and some Keds are not our gig. You absolutely need every item that is out there. Afterall, we invented aerobars. If we stop with the gadgets, who the hell would cyclists copy?

#7. Feelings are for Oprah, use your data. If you own a heart rate monitor and/or a powermeter, yet train just by RPE, then you either don’t know how to use it or you’re embarrassed by what it’s telling you.

#8. If you’ve raced the distance, it counts. If you’ve trained the distance, it doesn’t. Nailing a training day is one thing, nailing a racing day is quite another. Please don’t confuse the two. Ironman/marathon/etc. only counts if you are in there mixing it up. I’m the heavyweight champion of the world if we don’t have to actually compete.

#9. The number of logos allowed on a race kit are equal to that of NASCAR. In other words, go nuts. Only Wimbledon and the ITU restrict logos to the point of communism.

#10. Ironman tattoos are perfectly acceptable. You just finished one of the toughest days of your life. A bit of ink is just fine. Don’t let douche bags rain on your accomplishment.

#11. No buckets. It’s doesn’t matter how well thought out your transition is, don’t bring a bucket unless you plan to paint parking lines on the concrete or are going fishing after the race.

#12. Shave. You’re representing a group of people generally regarded as some of the fittest in the world. It’s a hot, sweaty, sometimes muddy sport, that keeps clothes to a minimum. Hanging out all day with gorilla legs and a hairy back does not make you a good steward of the sport. Clean it up.

#13. Learn who the pros are. In this sport everyone likes to think they’re the next big deal. Do yourself a favor and learn the names of those who actually make a living at being a badass.

#14. Support the sponsors. They pay money so you can have a great time. Don’t spend 45 minutes picking their brain and then head to the ‘net so you can save 3 bucks. That will get you flogged.

#15. Exaggeration of training is perfectly fine. Just keep in mind that Rule #39 is still in effect at all times.

#16. Drinking and triathlon are first cousins. Embrace your first cousin. There’s a reason beer is offered at 9 am at the race. Because we love it. Science has actually shown that a buzz and runner’s high is very similar, and endurance athletes drink more than your average bear.

#17. It’s a transition area, not your hotel room. Spreading out all your stuff for transition beyond 1 small towel is not acceptable. 1 bag limit.

#18. White race kits are only allowed if you know your body well. Really well. If you’ve ever worried about poo leg on a long run, then white is not for you. Ladies, if you are expecting a visit from your “Aunt Flow” then white is not for you. I don’t think I need to say anymore.

#19. Qualifying for Kona and your local “wellness” or “anti aging” clinic do not go together. If by some coincidence you decide your wanker doesn’t work right the exact same time you’re trying to get to Kona, stop everything and look for a new sport. Getting HGH, Testosterone and EPO shots in the name of ‘aging’ or wiener health won’t fly here. There are sports where cheating seem to be acceptable like here and here, so try those sports. This isn’t one of em.

#20. This sport has a history, learn some it. If you don’t know who the Big Four are, unfamiliar with the ’82 Moss Crawl, or think the Ironwar has something to do with the Industrial Age, then you got some reading to do.

#21. No “trunks” in the pool. Look, we get it that you’re a little self conscious wearing a skin tight swimsuit. Get over it. I promise you that you will get 10X more comments trying to swim laps in basketball shorts than you will a jammer.

#22. It’s OK to hate swimming, but you still have to do it. It’s not OK to use your wetsuit as a life preserver. Learn to swim. If you don’t there’s a sport called duathlon just waiting for you.

#23. Learn to circle swim. You really don’t need the whole lane to yourself. Stay to the right.

#24. Complaining about the water makes you look like a sissy. This is a tough sport. The distances are tough, the conditions are tough and the people are tough. Whining that the water isn’t as clear as your last trip to Grand Cayman isn’t winning you any cool points there Nancy.

#25. Learn Flipturns. You can pick the person out racing in high-tops right away. You get the idea.

#26. Obey the law – Nothing gives us a worse reputation than someone blowing through a red light like he’s above it all. The law applies to vehicles. You’re on a vehicle. Don’t be a douche. Obey the law.

#27. Don’t ride with headphones. Save the Rocky Soundtrack for your run. Your ears are needed to help keep you alive on the bike. Plus, depending on your state, it’s illegal. See Rule #26

#28. Support yourself. Others should not be obligated to babysit you on your ride. Flat tires should not take a village to fix.

#29. No aero helmets in training. While you might ride a whopping .2 mph faster, you will look like an absolute dork.

#30. Save the race wheels for the race. Yes, the bike does look cooler with $2,000 wheels, but your wallet will be thinner when a pot hole or rock crack that carbon. Leave some sizzle for the race.

#31. Learn to ride in a group. Wobbling down the road being afraid of anything around you is no way to go through life.

#32. Hold your line. Erratic movements in a group ride will take everyone out. Tighten it up.

#33. Don’t make accordions. Taking a turn up front is expected and appreciated, but not if you floor it the moment you take the reins, The guy 20 people back is going to get dropped by moves like that. Accelerate slowly so everyone can play.

#34. No shorts over your cycling shorts. Sister to Rule #21. Dress like you know what you’re doing.

#35. Learn to pee on yourself. You’ll spend $5,000 dollars to shave 55 seconds but won’t pee down your leg to save 3 minutes?

#36. The engine always trumps the rig. Always.

#37. Be on time, but don’t leave early. If the group ride or run is scheduled for 7 am, courtesy allows for 5 minutes. That means that sometime between 7 and 7:05 the wheels start rolling. If you roll up in your car at 7am and think everyone should wait for you to assemble your bike and pump up your tires, think again. Likewise, convincing the group to leave at 6:54 because you have a t-ball game is just bad form.

#38. No tan-lines allowed. This is not cycling. A farmer’s tan doesn’t make you look cool in anyway. The only exception is cycling short lines. Those are permitted, but need to be laser sharp.

#39. If you decide to talk the talk, be prepared to walk the walk. See also Rule #15. If you claim 3 hours at 300 watts, you’ll be expected to prove it.

#40. Crawling is an acceptable mode of transportation. It’s not pretty, but it gets the job done, and this sport is about getting the job done.