Sorry to break up the timeline, but I intended this blog to be more than just a recap of our races, I wanted to document the process of getting into Ironman shape. And the event write-ups (while a major part of this thing) are not all there is to it. So in addition to the race reports, I will interject training updates along with my own hastily-crafted, disjointed, and often vulgar commentary.
So anyway, lately Matt and I have been hitting the gym harder than a whore caught stealing from her pimp. In months past, our general gym program was to show up, run a few laps, and then do a few sets of legs, chest, or arms. Occasionally we'd hit the pool. The plan was decent, I suppose, and I am probably in better shape now than I ever have been. But our current system was not going to get us where we needed to go.
Our new plan is to switch between strength and cardio days, not to say that we won't have hybrid days, but only one will be the focus. We also have to get in the pool more often, even though I hate it more than I hate Michael Moore. Fuck that fat, self-righteous prick-bastard.
We finally got the heart-rate monitors working this week. Until now, we were working solely on distance, now we run by time and heart rate. Plus we get to use cool gadgets. Let's face it; we're both really just twelve year olds with cooler toys.
We also started a supplement regimen to make sure that we're getting the most out of our workouts. Maybe next year we'll start taking roids.
All that remains now is for us to figure out how to work spin classes and some other programs into our routine. With any hope, we'll emerge in the spring with me being able to swim and Matt being able to ride a bike. But then I remember the expression "Hope in one hand and shit it the other...See which one fills up faster."
Maybe I can even take the training wheels off of Matt's bike. Who knows?
Baby steps.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Barefoot Triathlon, Epilogue
This race was fantastic. We ran it hard and both of us exceeded even our wildest expectations for how it would turn out. However – hindsight being 20/20 – there were definitely mistakes made that affected performance.
My decision to hold back on the bike was one such mistake. Even though it allowed me to best my stand-alone 5K time (decent considering it came at the end of the tri). I think I could have shaved more time by hammering on the bike than I did by saving energy for the run. It was clearly a tactical error but perhaps also a lesson about changing strategy on the fly.
My transitions also need work. People who competed in wetsuits had superior T1 times even though they have to go through the additional step of taking off a soaked wetsuit. As for my T2 time, I think that by switching from clipless pedals and bike shoes to toe-clips and straps, I can shave about a minute off of my time by not having to change shoes. The shoes/clipless pedals might provide an advantage in longer races, but I think the transition time benefit in sprint distance races is more substantial.
Team Bad Ass will run this race again. This time with the goal of beating 1:30:00 and winning our age group.
My decision to hold back on the bike was one such mistake. Even though it allowed me to best my stand-alone 5K time (decent considering it came at the end of the tri). I think I could have shaved more time by hammering on the bike than I did by saving energy for the run. It was clearly a tactical error but perhaps also a lesson about changing strategy on the fly.
My transitions also need work. People who competed in wetsuits had superior T1 times even though they have to go through the additional step of taking off a soaked wetsuit. As for my T2 time, I think that by switching from clipless pedals and bike shoes to toe-clips and straps, I can shave about a minute off of my time by not having to change shoes. The shoes/clipless pedals might provide an advantage in longer races, but I think the transition time benefit in sprint distance races is more substantial.
Team Bad Ass will run this race again. This time with the goal of beating 1:30:00 and winning our age group.
Barefoot Triathlon Part II: Race Day. September 6th 2009
Breakfast in the morning was most choice; Team Bad Ass woke up before dawn and fuelled up on oatmeal, bananas, and coffee. We then drove up to the race to set up both of the transition areas. While performing a final check on the bicycles, I discovered a broken valve on Matt’s bike. I swapped out the tube in less than 2 minutes. I am awesome.
As we stood on the beach waiting for the earlier waves to begin, I recited my usual prerace incantation, “As I walk through the valley of death I fear nothing, for I am the meanest motherfucker in the valley.” Matt, always the consummate politician, spent the waiting time chatting up a couple of assholes in wetsuits.
The race organizers had everyone in our wave line up before heading out into the bay for the water-start, ostensibly so they could make sure that everyone that went into the water came out of the water. While lined up on the beach waiting to check in, we noticed the guy in front of us was wearing a polypropylene tri-shirt with numerous sponsors on the back, including the bike shop that I worked at and the bar that Matt manages. Despite this ridiculous coincidence, neither of us was aware of this tri-team’s existence.
The race director instructed us to head out to the starting buoy and we started to slog our way out into the water. The first thing we realized was that the water temperature was about ten degrees cooler than it was the day before. They gave us a countdown, then a starting bell, and we were off.
Knowing that I am likely a worse swimmer than Mary Jo Kopechne (too soon?), I tried to stay to the side of the main group. For the most part the water was between five and six feet deep, allowing Matt and myself to run along the bottom when we had to catch our breath. We kept up this swim/aqua-run system for the entirety of the swim, eventually exiting the swim with the top two swim times in our age group. 8:57 and 8:58.
Exiting the water required us traversing some serious mud and weeds before getting to the shore. Had the exit been like the entrance, I think everyone’s swim time would have improved by about a minute.
The first transition went well. We both switched into bike mode in less than four minutes. I remember having a difficult time getting socks onto my wet feet; I probably looked like one of Jerry’s Kids hopping around like an idiot. Once we were out of the chute and on the bike course, I idled a bit waiting for Matt to catch up. Well actually, I was trying to get my gloves on…making sure Matt was alright was secondary to ensuring that my palms were protected.
The bike course was hillier that I had expected, but so much the better because I am a terror on a bike and a champion on hills. I have climbed summits in California, conquered mountains in Arizona, and demolished the Texas Hill Country. Michigan’s hills would not stop me.
About halfway through the bike portion, I realized that I had based my triathlon strategy on a floundering swim. I had only planned on making it out of the water alive. My bike strength was supposed to make up for my swim weakness. That was no longer necessary. So I decided to cut back a bit on the bike, to save some energy for the run – something I never thought I would be in a position to care about. I ended up clocking a 56:32 on the bike. Matt powered through with a 1:00:59.
The second transition was a pain in the ass for me (Matt kicked the shit out of it). Rather than dismounting the bicycle before entering the transition area, the douche-bag in front of me just rode right through the chute, colliding with another racer just beyond my sight. The whole thing slowed me down by about thirty seconds while race people intervened to clear the area. I also had to change out of my bike shoes and into my running shoes. All told it took me a 1:45. Matt smoked through in 0:47.
The run was horseshit. We tried training for the transition from bike to run, but neither of us was really prepared. Our legs felt like jelly for at least the first half mile, during which time I considered quitting. I would have gone through with it, but I spied a fat woman plugging away with an arrogant Cheshire Cat grin on her face and my thoughts of quitting were quickly abated. I had to beat this woman.
The run course routed us through the back part of the resort and featured two out-and-back sections, allowing you to size up competition as they ran past you going the other way. After about a mile, I saw Matt and we traded thumbs-ups. He looked like he was doing okay, but he told me afterwards that he wanted to die at that point.
The race finish was at the top of a decent sized incline – not quite a hill, but a long stretch of uphill running was required. I kicked it into gear and tore up the hill like a meth head running from a police after a high-speed chase. I don’t fully recall crossing the finish line, but I do recall ruining several people’s finish-line photo-ops by passing them just before the chute.
I ended up with a 26:32 run time, giving me a final time 1:37:26. Good enough for 2nd place in our age group.
Matt finished the run in 25:46, giving him a final time of 1:40:26, and earning him 4th place in the age group.
Team Bad Ass had completed its first triathlon and taken one more small step toward completing an Ironman. Huzzah!
As we stood on the beach waiting for the earlier waves to begin, I recited my usual prerace incantation, “As I walk through the valley of death I fear nothing, for I am the meanest motherfucker in the valley.” Matt, always the consummate politician, spent the waiting time chatting up a couple of assholes in wetsuits.
The race organizers had everyone in our wave line up before heading out into the bay for the water-start, ostensibly so they could make sure that everyone that went into the water came out of the water. While lined up on the beach waiting to check in, we noticed the guy in front of us was wearing a polypropylene tri-shirt with numerous sponsors on the back, including the bike shop that I worked at and the bar that Matt manages. Despite this ridiculous coincidence, neither of us was aware of this tri-team’s existence.
The race director instructed us to head out to the starting buoy and we started to slog our way out into the water. The first thing we realized was that the water temperature was about ten degrees cooler than it was the day before. They gave us a countdown, then a starting bell, and we were off.
Knowing that I am likely a worse swimmer than Mary Jo Kopechne (too soon?), I tried to stay to the side of the main group. For the most part the water was between five and six feet deep, allowing Matt and myself to run along the bottom when we had to catch our breath. We kept up this swim/aqua-run system for the entirety of the swim, eventually exiting the swim with the top two swim times in our age group. 8:57 and 8:58.
Exiting the water required us traversing some serious mud and weeds before getting to the shore. Had the exit been like the entrance, I think everyone’s swim time would have improved by about a minute.
The first transition went well. We both switched into bike mode in less than four minutes. I remember having a difficult time getting socks onto my wet feet; I probably looked like one of Jerry’s Kids hopping around like an idiot. Once we were out of the chute and on the bike course, I idled a bit waiting for Matt to catch up. Well actually, I was trying to get my gloves on…making sure Matt was alright was secondary to ensuring that my palms were protected.
The bike course was hillier that I had expected, but so much the better because I am a terror on a bike and a champion on hills. I have climbed summits in California, conquered mountains in Arizona, and demolished the Texas Hill Country. Michigan’s hills would not stop me.
About halfway through the bike portion, I realized that I had based my triathlon strategy on a floundering swim. I had only planned on making it out of the water alive. My bike strength was supposed to make up for my swim weakness. That was no longer necessary. So I decided to cut back a bit on the bike, to save some energy for the run – something I never thought I would be in a position to care about. I ended up clocking a 56:32 on the bike. Matt powered through with a 1:00:59.
The second transition was a pain in the ass for me (Matt kicked the shit out of it). Rather than dismounting the bicycle before entering the transition area, the douche-bag in front of me just rode right through the chute, colliding with another racer just beyond my sight. The whole thing slowed me down by about thirty seconds while race people intervened to clear the area. I also had to change out of my bike shoes and into my running shoes. All told it took me a 1:45. Matt smoked through in 0:47.
The run was horseshit. We tried training for the transition from bike to run, but neither of us was really prepared. Our legs felt like jelly for at least the first half mile, during which time I considered quitting. I would have gone through with it, but I spied a fat woman plugging away with an arrogant Cheshire Cat grin on her face and my thoughts of quitting were quickly abated. I had to beat this woman.
The run course routed us through the back part of the resort and featured two out-and-back sections, allowing you to size up competition as they ran past you going the other way. After about a mile, I saw Matt and we traded thumbs-ups. He looked like he was doing okay, but he told me afterwards that he wanted to die at that point.
The race finish was at the top of a decent sized incline – not quite a hill, but a long stretch of uphill running was required. I kicked it into gear and tore up the hill like a meth head running from a police after a high-speed chase. I don’t fully recall crossing the finish line, but I do recall ruining several people’s finish-line photo-ops by passing them just before the chute.
I ended up with a 26:32 run time, giving me a final time 1:37:26. Good enough for 2nd place in our age group.
Matt finished the run in 25:46, giving him a final time of 1:40:26, and earning him 4th place in the age group.
Team Bad Ass had completed its first triathlon and taken one more small step toward completing an Ironman. Huzzah!
**Jim can be seen on the far right with the awesome eagle tatoo on his chest. Matt was running on Jim's left and for some reason was cut out of the picture. He has also failed to provide Jim with any of the other pictures taken during the race so he cannot bitch.**
Barefoot Triathlon Part I: The Day Before
Jim here again for TBA. When we left off, we had run a 5K and tried to run a triathlon, but it was cancelled. Team Bad Ass was in bad shape. A team established to run triathlons has so far run nothing but a 5K. Fuck, I mean retards and terminal cancer patients can run 5Ks. We needed a tri, but more importantly we needed to get our shit together.
I went about finding a race. It was a bit of a pain in the ass, finding one that we could do that: A.) wasn’t a complete piece of shit; B.) wasn’t too far away; and C.) didn’t conflict with our complex, stacked social calendar.
I found a bunch of garbage races – bullshit set up behind the Podunk Fire Department outside of Shitville, Michigan, where they have the half dozen racers take turns swimming laps in the city pool – but there was nothing that really stood out.
I came across the Barefoot Triathlon as kind of a fluke, having seen a bunch of listings for a race in Gaylord (Matt really wanted to go), but there wasn’t a functional website. I called the race organizer who informed me that it had been cancelled. But there was a silver lining in the shit-storm cloud; the race was to be replaced with one at the Grand Traverse Resort in Traverse City. Done fucking deal.
We signed up for the inaugural Barefoot Triathlon (Barefoot is the name of the resort’s concierge magazine, the race is not actually run barefoot. This is Michigan, not Appalachia) and actually started doing some training.
We hit the gym quite a bit in the month or so leading up to the event, but I think our run training and swimming were more helpful. Though, more than once, I contemplated murdering Matt for making me run.
The day before race day, we piled all of our shit into my car and hit the road. One of Team Bad Ass’s many fans joined us for the car ride. She was planning on meeting people in Traverse City, so we would actually have a spectator this time.
The ride up was pleasant, save for the biohazards that Matt would release periodically. Seriously, something is dead inside of that guy. I had been to Traverse City once before on a two-day bike tour in 2008 (The Bob Chappuis Michigan Bicycle Adventure). It was a decent town, but most of my time there was spent gambling and drinking.
We got to town in the early afternoon on the day prior to the race. Driving up along the bay, we could see the marker buoys already set up for the swim – large orange spheres for the Olympic distance, and yellow ones for our Sprint distance race. Packet pickup went rather smoothly once we figured out just where the hell it was. All three of us missed the giant circus tent the race folks had erected just beyond the parking lot at the Grand Traverse Resort.
This particular race had two separate transition areas; one from swim to bike (T1), and another for bike to run (T2). We drove down to check out the swim start and were initially thwarted by a slovenly guard with a beer gut at a security gate. Matt stepped out of the car and disappeared into the guard’s booth for a few minutes. They both came out and we were allowed to proceed down to the beach. Matt was unusually quiet for some time afterwards and he is still very guarded about the whole transaction. But talk about being a team player!
The swim course was to start in the water, swim out to the first buoy, turn and swim parallel to the beach, then turn and head in to the swim-exit. The space between the swim-exit and the first transition area looked to be fairly convoluted. There was a boardwalk that we would have to run on and a pool house that we would have to run around. I found myself thinking that the course would be better swum in reverse. We got in the water and found the water temperature to be much warmer than we had anticipated.
After checking in and out of the Super 8 motel (details are being withheld until various statutes of limitation run out), we headed over to the casino. We opted not to hit up the buffet so as not to be bloated fat-asses in the morning. We instead ate a real shitty meal in the casino deli. With the possible exception of the poorly prepared chicken tenders, the casino treated us pretty well; I won about a hundred bucks playing craps and blackjack, Matt cleared about eighty dollars on the slot machines. What a bitch.
Our new hotel was much closer to the race start, and it had a pool/hot tub and breakfast. We soaked in the hot tub for awhile before heading to bed.
I went about finding a race. It was a bit of a pain in the ass, finding one that we could do that: A.) wasn’t a complete piece of shit; B.) wasn’t too far away; and C.) didn’t conflict with our complex, stacked social calendar.
I found a bunch of garbage races – bullshit set up behind the Podunk Fire Department outside of Shitville, Michigan, where they have the half dozen racers take turns swimming laps in the city pool – but there was nothing that really stood out.
I came across the Barefoot Triathlon as kind of a fluke, having seen a bunch of listings for a race in Gaylord (Matt really wanted to go), but there wasn’t a functional website. I called the race organizer who informed me that it had been cancelled. But there was a silver lining in the shit-storm cloud; the race was to be replaced with one at the Grand Traverse Resort in Traverse City. Done fucking deal.
We signed up for the inaugural Barefoot Triathlon (Barefoot is the name of the resort’s concierge magazine, the race is not actually run barefoot. This is Michigan, not Appalachia) and actually started doing some training.
We hit the gym quite a bit in the month or so leading up to the event, but I think our run training and swimming were more helpful. Though, more than once, I contemplated murdering Matt for making me run.
The day before race day, we piled all of our shit into my car and hit the road. One of Team Bad Ass’s many fans joined us for the car ride. She was planning on meeting people in Traverse City, so we would actually have a spectator this time.
The ride up was pleasant, save for the biohazards that Matt would release periodically. Seriously, something is dead inside of that guy. I had been to Traverse City once before on a two-day bike tour in 2008 (The Bob Chappuis Michigan Bicycle Adventure). It was a decent town, but most of my time there was spent gambling and drinking.
We got to town in the early afternoon on the day prior to the race. Driving up along the bay, we could see the marker buoys already set up for the swim – large orange spheres for the Olympic distance, and yellow ones for our Sprint distance race. Packet pickup went rather smoothly once we figured out just where the hell it was. All three of us missed the giant circus tent the race folks had erected just beyond the parking lot at the Grand Traverse Resort.
This particular race had two separate transition areas; one from swim to bike (T1), and another for bike to run (T2). We drove down to check out the swim start and were initially thwarted by a slovenly guard with a beer gut at a security gate. Matt stepped out of the car and disappeared into the guard’s booth for a few minutes. They both came out and we were allowed to proceed down to the beach. Matt was unusually quiet for some time afterwards and he is still very guarded about the whole transaction. But talk about being a team player!
The swim course was to start in the water, swim out to the first buoy, turn and swim parallel to the beach, then turn and head in to the swim-exit. The space between the swim-exit and the first transition area looked to be fairly convoluted. There was a boardwalk that we would have to run on and a pool house that we would have to run around. I found myself thinking that the course would be better swum in reverse. We got in the water and found the water temperature to be much warmer than we had anticipated.
After checking in and out of the Super 8 motel (details are being withheld until various statutes of limitation run out), we headed over to the casino. We opted not to hit up the buffet so as not to be bloated fat-asses in the morning. We instead ate a real shitty meal in the casino deli. With the possible exception of the poorly prepared chicken tenders, the casino treated us pretty well; I won about a hundred bucks playing craps and blackjack, Matt cleared about eighty dollars on the slot machines. What a bitch.
Our new hotel was much closer to the race start, and it had a pool/hot tub and breakfast. We soaked in the hot tub for awhile before heading to bed.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
2009 Race Season
Jim again. I got numerous e-mails from people bitching about the slowness of my blogging. Let me answer all of them right now. Fuck off! I'll finish them when I finish them and I've only been doing this for a couple days.
Do you think it's easy to string together insults and curse words while maintaining an effective narrative? Then write your own god damned blog. I have to write them in between my drinking, training, and law school bullshit. So be patient, and I promise the future entries will be worth the wait.
Anyway someone asked that I post what our 2009 event schedule looked like and how the 2010 schedule is shaping up. I think I can handle that.
2009 Team Bad Ass Events
Millennium Triathlon – Cancelled
Mitchell Run thru Rockford 5K, August 15th
Barefoot Triathlon in Traverse City, September 9th
Apple Cider Century in Three Oaks, September 27th
Run Thru the Rapids 10K, October 10th
Grand Rapids Half Marathon, October 18th
Nike Human Race 5K and 10K, October 24th
The 2010 schedule is still a work in progress. There will for sure be a couple marathons and a Half Ironman. The precise details are still up in the air.
Do you think it's easy to string together insults and curse words while maintaining an effective narrative? Then write your own god damned blog. I have to write them in between my drinking, training, and law school bullshit. So be patient, and I promise the future entries will be worth the wait.
Anyway someone asked that I post what our 2009 event schedule looked like and how the 2010 schedule is shaping up. I think I can handle that.
2009 Team Bad Ass Events
Millennium Triathlon – Cancelled
Mitchell Run thru Rockford 5K, August 15th
Barefoot Triathlon in Traverse City, September 9th
Apple Cider Century in Three Oaks, September 27th
Run Thru the Rapids 10K, October 10th
Grand Rapids Half Marathon, October 18th
Nike Human Race 5K and 10K, October 24th
The 2010 schedule is still a work in progress. There will for sure be a couple marathons and a Half Ironman. The precise details are still up in the air.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
The Bullshit Millennium Triathlon, August 8th 2009
The first event we picked – long before we jerked off our egos enough to convince each other that we could even contemplate running an Ironman – was the Millennium Triathlon in Grand Rapids.
The Millennium was to be Matt’s first tri (Jim already ran one…well two, but one was a joke) but the weather gods did not smile on us that day.
Our training was fairly lackadaisical (for you philistines, that means half-assed. See that, Matt, I’m always looking out for you.). We rode bikes a couple times–maybe 15 miles apiece, we ran four or five times, and swam thrice. Despite the meager smattering of training, we were fairly confident that we could finish the race. To hell with actually competing.
The morning of the race came sooner than either of us thought it would. This actually became a trend during our race season. We’d sign up for an event, months in advance, and then plan a regimented training program only to wake up the morning of the event and realize that we hadn’t done shit.
Anyway, the morning of the Millennium Tri came replete with ominous clouds and threatening lighting. No bueno for a race that involves an open water swim. We talked on the phone about the likelihood of the race officials cancelling the race and decided to head down there anyway. We met at the race when it was still dark. Parking was a nightmare – 500 cars jockeying for spots in a muddy lot serviced by a single lane road. They might as well have had a gang of quadriplegic Down’s syndrome patients directing traffic.
We set up the bikes in the transition area and then waited around trying to figure out if they were actually going to run the damn thing. We walked around a bit, checked out the swim course and the run entrance, but mostly just people watched. Jim decided that he didn’t care about the race results as long as he beat one person. So before every event he sizes people up and picks out the lucky asshole that he is going to beat. He settled on a pigeon-toed, obese man with more nervous ticks than a Belfast valet driver. He sets the bar really high in all his endeavors. Matt picked a 12-year-old girl, but changed it when Jim told him that the goal of the exercise was to beat their time, not beat them physically. He settled on a older, hag of a woman with a club foot and an awful respiratory problem that resulted in a loud wheeze whenever she picked up her pace. The melody made by the tapping of her club foot and her death wheeze sounded a bit like a rabid warthog with a bad limp.
After picking out the losers they wanted to beat, the team captains (yes, there are two captains despite the fact that the team only has two members) finalized their respective strategies. Matt can run and swim but is a bit weak on the bike; Jim is a lousy swimmer and a terrible runner, but a god damn terror on a bicycle. Likewise, Matt’s strategy was to push himself in the swim, pace himself on the bike, and run it out to finish the race. Jim had a different plan, he was going to get through the swim without drowning and then leave everything on the bike course. He made no preparations to save any energy for the run course.
On the way back to the transition area, we saw a mass exodus of people heading to the parking lot with their bikes; clearly the race had been called and they didn’t have the decency to inform Team Bad Ass. Faggots.
Not wanting to accept the fact that the race was cancelled due to weather, especially when it wasn’t even raining at that point, we decided to race anyway. We walked to the swim start and saw that a few other people had the same idea. We got into the water just as the rain started and just as expected Matt pulled away almost immediately, about 150 yards into it the Sheriff’s patrol boat with the scuba divers pulled up next to us and told us to get out of the water. Jim pretended not to hear the deputy and kept swimming, causing the boat to double back and the officer to yell.
“Get out of the water! I’m not going to tell you again.” screamed the deputy.
Jim could not resist.
“What?” he asked.
“Get the FUCK out of the water!”
Jim got the fuck out of the water.
Though the event was a failure on paper, it was a success in that it caused us to see where we needed to focus our efforts. We’d be ready for the next tri.
The Millennium was to be Matt’s first tri (Jim already ran one…well two, but one was a joke) but the weather gods did not smile on us that day.
Our training was fairly lackadaisical (for you philistines, that means half-assed. See that, Matt, I’m always looking out for you.). We rode bikes a couple times–maybe 15 miles apiece, we ran four or five times, and swam thrice. Despite the meager smattering of training, we were fairly confident that we could finish the race. To hell with actually competing.
The morning of the race came sooner than either of us thought it would. This actually became a trend during our race season. We’d sign up for an event, months in advance, and then plan a regimented training program only to wake up the morning of the event and realize that we hadn’t done shit.
Anyway, the morning of the Millennium Tri came replete with ominous clouds and threatening lighting. No bueno for a race that involves an open water swim. We talked on the phone about the likelihood of the race officials cancelling the race and decided to head down there anyway. We met at the race when it was still dark. Parking was a nightmare – 500 cars jockeying for spots in a muddy lot serviced by a single lane road. They might as well have had a gang of quadriplegic Down’s syndrome patients directing traffic.
We set up the bikes in the transition area and then waited around trying to figure out if they were actually going to run the damn thing. We walked around a bit, checked out the swim course and the run entrance, but mostly just people watched. Jim decided that he didn’t care about the race results as long as he beat one person. So before every event he sizes people up and picks out the lucky asshole that he is going to beat. He settled on a pigeon-toed, obese man with more nervous ticks than a Belfast valet driver. He sets the bar really high in all his endeavors. Matt picked a 12-year-old girl, but changed it when Jim told him that the goal of the exercise was to beat their time, not beat them physically. He settled on a older, hag of a woman with a club foot and an awful respiratory problem that resulted in a loud wheeze whenever she picked up her pace. The melody made by the tapping of her club foot and her death wheeze sounded a bit like a rabid warthog with a bad limp.
After picking out the losers they wanted to beat, the team captains (yes, there are two captains despite the fact that the team only has two members) finalized their respective strategies. Matt can run and swim but is a bit weak on the bike; Jim is a lousy swimmer and a terrible runner, but a god damn terror on a bicycle. Likewise, Matt’s strategy was to push himself in the swim, pace himself on the bike, and run it out to finish the race. Jim had a different plan, he was going to get through the swim without drowning and then leave everything on the bike course. He made no preparations to save any energy for the run course.
On the way back to the transition area, we saw a mass exodus of people heading to the parking lot with their bikes; clearly the race had been called and they didn’t have the decency to inform Team Bad Ass. Faggots.
Not wanting to accept the fact that the race was cancelled due to weather, especially when it wasn’t even raining at that point, we decided to race anyway. We walked to the swim start and saw that a few other people had the same idea. We got into the water just as the rain started and just as expected Matt pulled away almost immediately, about 150 yards into it the Sheriff’s patrol boat with the scuba divers pulled up next to us and told us to get out of the water. Jim pretended not to hear the deputy and kept swimming, causing the boat to double back and the officer to yell.
“Get out of the water! I’m not going to tell you again.” screamed the deputy.
Jim could not resist.
“What?” he asked.
“Get the FUCK out of the water!”
Jim got the fuck out of the water.
Though the event was a failure on paper, it was a success in that it caused us to see where we needed to focus our efforts. We’d be ready for the next tri.
Mitchell's Run thru Rockford, Aug. 15 2009
Jim here for TBA. I had the brilliant idea of recapping all of our previous races so that we could track our progress and maybe look back in a year and be amazed that I prayed for death during a 5K.
The Mitchell run was a pain in the ass. We picked it as a replacement event for horseshit rainout of the Millennium triathlon. When I say "we picked it", I really mean Matt picked it. I am not a runner, and I had only run a 5K as part of a rather bush league triathlon I ran in Wisconsin.
Anyway, the Mitchell run was a pain in the ass. I was out drinking the night before and had a rather rude awakening when Matt called me at 7:30am to wake my drunk ass up. I of course told him that I was already up and ready to leave. I stumbled out of bed, put on some clothes, poured myself in the car and hit the road.
Got to Matt's place around 8am and we headed to the race. It was early, but it was clearly going to be a god-damned scorcher. It was a fairly large event (in hindsight, not really. But fuck it, keep reading), probably 1500 people, most wearing overstretched spandex and ass hugging waist packs. For a moment I thought I was in Wisconsin.
We talked a bit about our expectations for the race. Matt had some ridiculous "I want to beak 24 minutes" goal. With my fucked up knees and after a night of partying, I would have been quite satisfied with 35 minutes.
The race started in downtown Rockford, Michigan and the course snaked through residential streets. After the starting gun sounded, it took about two minutes for the field to disperse enough for me to start running. Matt took off like a banshee, deftly maneuvering around the hordes of power-walking fat women, eventually clocking a 22:22. God damn respectable.
I was in a world of hurt at the beginning of the race, likely due to too much vomiting (or not quite enough). I had considerable difficulty trying to get a sustainable pace going. People (fatties in spandex) seemed to randomly alter course and veer into my running lane quite a bit.
Got my second wind right about the time a woman sprayed me with a garden hose from her front lawn. Not being from the area and not knowing exactly where the finish line was, I also had difficulty trying to determine when I should start sprinting. I ended up starting my final sprint too late, but I was able to pass a few people right at the finish. Ended up clocking in at 26:54. It’s not just good. It’s good enough.
The Mitchell run was a pain in the ass. We picked it as a replacement event for horseshit rainout of the Millennium triathlon. When I say "we picked it", I really mean Matt picked it. I am not a runner, and I had only run a 5K as part of a rather bush league triathlon I ran in Wisconsin.
Anyway, the Mitchell run was a pain in the ass. I was out drinking the night before and had a rather rude awakening when Matt called me at 7:30am to wake my drunk ass up. I of course told him that I was already up and ready to leave. I stumbled out of bed, put on some clothes, poured myself in the car and hit the road.
Got to Matt's place around 8am and we headed to the race. It was early, but it was clearly going to be a god-damned scorcher. It was a fairly large event (in hindsight, not really. But fuck it, keep reading), probably 1500 people, most wearing overstretched spandex and ass hugging waist packs. For a moment I thought I was in Wisconsin.
We talked a bit about our expectations for the race. Matt had some ridiculous "I want to beak 24 minutes" goal. With my fucked up knees and after a night of partying, I would have been quite satisfied with 35 minutes.
The race started in downtown Rockford, Michigan and the course snaked through residential streets. After the starting gun sounded, it took about two minutes for the field to disperse enough for me to start running. Matt took off like a banshee, deftly maneuvering around the hordes of power-walking fat women, eventually clocking a 22:22. God damn respectable.
I was in a world of hurt at the beginning of the race, likely due to too much vomiting (or not quite enough). I had considerable difficulty trying to get a sustainable pace going. People (fatties in spandex) seemed to randomly alter course and veer into my running lane quite a bit.
Got my second wind right about the time a woman sprayed me with a garden hose from her front lawn. Not being from the area and not knowing exactly where the finish line was, I also had difficulty trying to determine when I should start sprinting. I ended up starting my final sprint too late, but I was able to pass a few people right at the finish. Ended up clocking in at 26:54. It’s not just good. It’s good enough.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Who is Team Bad Ass?
So here is the general idea. We are two drunks training to compete in an Ironman triathlon race in 2011.
That too general for you? Fine. Here's more. Our names are Matt and Jim. (We'll leave it in the first-person-plural for now because I am not sure who will be writing the majority of the blog entries.) We are both 25 years old and currently living in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Actually Matt lives in Rockford, Michigan but you really don't have to know the difference unless you were stalking him, and in that case you probably already knew that.
We became friends and training partners during the summer of 2009. For the most part we have no idea what we are doing: we don't have trainers, we don't have coaches, and we certainly don't have sponsors (AA or commercial). We started out small, we picked out a local triathlon to compete in, and then started training. To say that our training was minimal would be an understatement tantamount to calling herpes a “minor annoyance”.
Say what you will about the buddy system, it fucking works. On numerous occasions, one of us was feeling like shit, couldn't handle the distance, or wanted to quit. In any of these situations, there is nothing more motivational than having your friend call you a "pussy". We have come a long way from where we started, but we are not even close to our destination.
Our general plan (if you can call it that) is to run numerous smaller events, scattered throughout our two-year training schedule before the big one. The purpose of this blog is to record our progress, detail some of the individual events we participate in, share some of our twisted insights with you. Because it's not about the destination, it's about the journey.
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