How to Rebuild an Ironman?

It was exactly 10 years ago when I first started this blog.  Obviously, if anyone can recall (click HERE), I was a very different person and the circumstances surrounding my life and lifestyle were vastly different – that simply cannot be helped.  I made my choices and lived by them and, largely, I was very successful in the beginning, and while my initial goal of being the first “Stoner Ironman” were never realized, I did crush Ironman Wales as the ultimate end product of the whole transformation process.

But that was the peak.

Sure there have been other successes and triumphs along the way too, both competitively and personally, and this blog is full of those stories.  But, of course, there has been a fair share of serious setbacks as well through these years.  In some cases there have been resurrections from these challenges; other times not.  These past ten years have been more or less a continuous roller-coaster of ups and downs; triumphs and tragedies; being broken and being rebuilt again – all in a seemingly endless cycle.  It just so happens then, that rather than when I first started this blog and was well on my way to becoming my personal best, I now find myself one decade later having slid back down towards the very bottom.

And it’s galling.

More than anything over the past decade, more than any of my other “accomplishments” was a general belief that I had transitioned myself through doing the necessary hard work, of being one tough son of a bitch.  The kind of person who can go ride a century ride at the drop of a hat, or join others on a long open water swim just for the fun of it – often in the same day if time allowed.  I had finally accepted to myself that I wasn’t likely ever going to be the sleek-looking super pro riding the fanciest equipment at mach speeds in all the local triathlons, but turn that event instead into a long, slow, arduous, and often painful task?

Let’s go.

Keep in mind, all my “personal bests” have taken place in the worst possible conditions and I have learned to genuinely cross my fingers for shitty weather come race day.  Heavy rain, strong wind, driving sleet, excessive hills, extreme heat or frigid temperatures, six foot swells … bring it on!  Throw everyone into the same shit equally, and I suddenly tended to fare much better than most.

I was tough.

Of course, I was still doing all the necessary hard work in training.

Among my most favorite and, truthfully – feared – “tough guy” proving grounds were my repeated invitations into the Brock kinesiology lab to be a willing participant in their various studies to test the limits and understanding of sporting and athletic related sciences.  And believe me; some of these studies really, and quite truthfully, tested the very limits of my own mental and physical abilities.  Sure I was never the fittest looking, or likely the top performing of all the participants, but it was guaranteed that I would show up for more, again and again and again if necessary; regardless of how bad it sucked.

And, believe me when I tell you that there were times when it really sucked (click HERE for only an example), and many participants even threw in the towel before completing the entire process.

But I never quit.

Remember, I even sat in a freezer for two hours (click HERE).

I even took to referring to myself with pride as a “Suffer Bunny”, knowing my growing mental aptitude for enduring the worst that could be conjured up and that general belief has been a prime motivator in accomplishing my more recent training plans.  Over the years, I have allowed myself to be poked and prodded with needles and IV’s, heated up, frozen alive, and dehydrated.  I have had my body pushed to its absolute physical limits in pretty awful conditions and then allowed my mental skills and cognitive function to be challenged afterwards and, of course …

–

THE PROBE!!

(Sorry, couldn’t help myself)

Whatever they threw at me, I was guaranteed to go back for more to complete the job and I prided myself on being able to do that.

I was one tough son of a bitch … I was “hard as nails”.

This hard-working “at all costs” ethic even serves me well in my personal-slash-professional life.  I routine have a very physical work day; both mentally and physically.  I routinely lift, hoist and “Jenga” heavy furniture, often in cramped conditions, as a product of my job.  Elevator not working?  I’ll just carry all my heavy equipment up the ten flights of stairs rather than waste valuable work hours waiting in the lobby with everyone else.

Breaks?  Breaks are for pussies.

My father certainly may not have left me much, but he definitely well-equipped me with his unique brand of ethics and stubbornness!

And so it was this same mindset that I walked into the Brock kinesiology lab once again this past Tuesday to participate in the next round of torture, a project called: “Redefining Fatigue: Considerations for the Modelling of Critical Power”.

And rumor had it that this particular series of testing was extremely difficult and, therefore, I was bound to LOVE it.

Just my kind of dance.

Having said all this, I was very aware going in that I was not going to be anything close to my past performances; quality or quantity.  But surely my mental and physical toughness would continue to serve me, and while the inevitable body mass and fat measurements were going to be embarrassing, that wasn’t going to necessarily inhibit my ability to suffer any as is typically required and so I made arrangements with Scott to meet up in the lab to begin the eight sessions that were going to transpire over the next 3-4 weeks; time to get to work.

Unfortunately, the only work I really did was changing into my bib shorts.

Yeah.

Let me back track a little first …

As part of the study (as it is in the beginning of any study), there is the gauntlet of consent forms and “Physical Activity Readiness Questionnaires” to complete.  I typically gloss over these forms as I’ve never had reason or cause for concern regarding my health.  Sure, I’m still a larger dude – I’m no skinny Minnie to be sure — but I’m eons from where I had allowed myself to slip in years previous.  However, I have also recently come to know that I have unusually high blood pressure, despite exhibiting zero others signs of anything indicating a cause for alarm.  Lord knows that I have never typified the idea, or image for that matter, of a standard “athlete”, and it pains me even to type that word in reference to myself.

Regardless, I felt that ‘full disclosure’ was the only policy as I have come to both trust and respect the student investigators (Scott and Phil, et al.)  Besides providing me with a safe environment and means in which to have my ass handed to me, they also 100% have my back by taking every safety precaution in order to protect my health and thereby minimizing the risk of anything ever going, well … not smoothly.  And, of course, they can’t do that without all the necessary information; the big picture – so I mentioned my blood pressure and it was (rightfully) decided to check it out before proceeding any further.

161/90.

Yup.

That’s what I figured, so we waited a little longer before trying again.

(thinkcalmingthoughts … thinkcalmingthoughts … thinkcalmingthoughts …)

160/59.

FML.

We tried a third time, but I knew there wasn’t going to be any positive change and, ultimately, the reality began to sink in … my inherent “toughness” was gone.

Now, I was a liability simply to continue — from Ironman to Ironpussy.

It was like being punched in the stomach (made even worse seeing as how I had also brought along HRH for moral support) as I was instantly overcome with this overwhelming sense of shame and embarrassment.  The denial that, while not performing or exercising to my usual standards, I was still somehow miraculously self-managing my fitness reasonably, sank in with a lead weight.

In fact, I had back-peddled much farther than I had anticipated.

I was no longer “hard as nails”.  I felt mushy and gross.

Needless to say, I never  made it onto the velotron Tuesday evening.

It was a total wash.

I was shocked (I still am).

I would like to say then that this post was intended as a “calling to arms” in that I’ve seen the light and I’m ready to rally back and put the whole fitness train back in motion again but, truthfully, given this new information and current circumstances surrounding my life now ten years down the roads, I have no more idea on what to do now than I do how to calculate quantum physics.

What is “Heart Smart” exactly?

To me, it sounds like a Latin derivative meaning “to eat dust”, or maybe “void of flavor”.

Suddenly, I’m plunged into this challenge of, well, not being such a high risk of having my heart explode should I decide to go for a bike ride, or do some laps in the pool, or – heavens forbid – attempt my luck in future testing at the Brock lab, and I’m both scared and lost.

And, apparently, I cannot do this alone any longer and I do need help.

I think over time, I’ve lost the inevitable accountability that I used to have by belonging to different sporting groups, and was more enjoying simply being a part of a larger community of like-minded and physically active people.  When I moved from my longtime home base of St. Catharines, 45 minutes down the road to Ridgeway, I started opting out of club rides and activities to stay closer to home in order to explore new territory, as well as helping to raise a very engaged seven-year-old girl.  I have still been fortunate enough to hook up with many very capable and hugely inspiring people out this way, but more and more I ended up training alone and this model has served me well as long as I had a commitment, either to an actual event or to a specific coach.

I always had accountability … somewhere.

After my second Iron distance triathlon, the pressures to perform and focus on “doing the work” seemed less critical and sleeping in seemed more and more like a good idea, over my beloved morning laps.  I still rode my bike, and even managed some decent length Century-distance rides, but it was more when I wanted to and felt like it as opposed to any sense of obligation and, of course, they nearly all ended at the local brewery to celebrate.

It was a pleasant change to enjoy myself and do as I please, as opposed to continuously over-exerting myself, specifically seeing as how I didn’t have anything specific to train for.  I enjoyed not having to rush out of bed early in the morning to slip in a first work, only to rush to and from work in order to slip in a second workout before dinner and, hopefully, some family time before an early bedtime so I could repeat it all the next day.  My mind wasn’t really into “suffering” any longer; it was into patios and time spent with family and friends.

That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?

But all these post-ride beer and pretzels, never mind the “Great Jellybean Festival of January 2019”, have apparently caught up with me in just short of two years since my Hudson Valley Full Triathlon and it’s time to finally step back and take a serious reassessment of myself, and the ultimate direction that this currently rudderless ship is traveling, and maybe attempt to make the necessary and immediate changes to get it back on course.

In essence, ten years later and adrift again and more or less starting all over once more.

The learning curve is going to be no less huge – life changing in fact, just as it was over ten years ago (click HERE for My Life: Part 1, click HERE for Part 2, click HERE for Part 3, click HERE for Part 4) and I don’t even know where to begin this time around precisely, but I do know that it has to start now and, hopefully, this public admittance to myself will prompt these tentative first few scary steps towards rekindling and rediscovering that old toughness I was so genuinely proud of.

I have so much to learn and relearn, so coming over the next few months, hopefully, there will be a series of posts here with a renewed focus aimed at keep me accountable to all the new “come to Jesus” moments that I’m inevitably going to encounter along this new path … and I see lots of forks in the road in the very near future.

rest assured, this is sure going to be one hell of a learning curve!

So in an effort to not completely freak out and end things here on a dour note, I have to remember that I have rebuilt myself on more than one occasion (click HERE and HERE), and I do have people with whom I can lean on if necessary, so here’s just hoping then that I can do it once again seeing as how this time … my life may literally depend on it.

What else can I say?

Pass the salad.